health ed class where im the shy girl at the back who blushes, embarrassed when the teacher announces we're doing sex ed in class today.
the first thing he asks for is a volunteer
i normally get picked on for these sorts of things - y'know - given im the one at the back of the class that always tucks her head into her book whenever she's noticed... i do my usual interested-in-book act and hope to go unnoticed.
it fails once again.
against my volunteering-want, i pick myself up - cheeks darkening as I feel the class' attention turn to me as my chair scrapes the floor, my heels dragging as i stand at the front and look across the classroom - seeing how many judgemental pairs of eyes stare at me - today's subject.
"Now that we have someone who has kindly volunteered - will you hop up onto the desk-"
I leaned back and let myself pull my bodyweight up so that I sat with my legs extending from the teacher's desk on the front
"-And pull your skirt up."
the words took a second to resonate before my eyebrows flew up in shock. "S-sorry?"
"Show the class your pussy," he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "we're in a health class and you volunteering yourself - your body - so go on, show the class your pussy."
My throat dries and closes, face draining of colour and yet heating up simultaneously, legs crossing over each other defensively whilst my body seemingly freezes at the overwhelmingness of it all.
I can't talk - my throat hoarse from the shock of it all - and instead the best i can do is shake my head erratically, not willing to oblige. was he joking? was this some example of how if you don't wanna show your body to everyone you shouldn't send pictures?
what sick thing what going on?!
it wasn't a joke though - and seemingly bad was turning to worse at the teacher frowned. "well, you've already volunteered yourself, and if you don't comply with what i tell you to do then there will be consequences, miss."
my body remained frozen in place from the shock of it all. and looking across the classroom, all the other students seemed perfectly okay with what was going on - as if there were some universe where this was normal! And if not neutral to it - some of the body even seemed to have their interests piqued by the idea, leant forwards in their desks as though trying to get closer to the action.
the teacher noticed my lack of movement and took matters into his own hands.
"Jones! Up!"
I looked across the room as my bully - the one that antagonized me for all things stupid and trivial - stood up and came to the front of the class.
"I'm going to lift her skirt up and hold her body to keep her still - i want you to hold her thighs open and pull her panties off."
this time the words clicked faster, and I pushed myself off of my arms to get off of the table and not let myself get undressed in front of the whole class - yet my teacher was faster. his arm wrapped around my body and pulled my back into his chest, his other forearm grasping at the hem of my skirt before yanking it upwards and revealing the upper skin of my thighs and the baby pink panties i'd chosen this morning - things that I hadn't expected nor wanted the class to see
"get-off- mE!" i wriggled under the teacher's hold and yet couldn't escape his grasp - and looking across the class with teary eyes, noone cared to make eye contact with me or help - instead they all made eye contact with the baby pink between my legs, uncaring for the yelps that left my mouth
the only one that looked me in the eyes was Jones. My bully, who hadn't shown kindness since I'd first joined. please, Jones... I'd whispered with a wavering tone to him - holding eye contact as he leaned down, his hands falling on either of my thighs... before he gripped them - hard - and prised them open to give everyone a better view of the pair of panties. and with both his hands occupied, his head fell between my legs as a scream left my mouth, his teeth clenching around the material to pull it away from my pussy and expose the raw flesh that evoked some scattered gasps and wows across the classroom.
"Terry, take my place holding her - everyone gather round-"
My body was grasped by a different set of arms, blubbers falling from my lips as the teacher came to my side and the class left their seats to come closer to my bare pussy - eyes fixated on the exposed mound
"This is what a real pussy looks like - this up here-"
he touched my clit and made my whole body jerk, a cry mixing ang mingling with a moan and making something of a wailing noise that seemed to make someone's trousers tighter
"that is the clitoris. the place that had the most nerves and it a pleasure point on the female anatomy. This set of lips is the labia majora - the other lips - and these inner ones are the labia minora"
i felt utterly degraded feeling him pinch either set of lips, shaking them with his words to emphasise what he said using my body - a trail of dampness following his fingers as he pulled away from my pussy
"and most importantly - this here is the vagina - the hole from which women have periods and babies from - but most importantly - the place which you put cocks, fingers and toys into to pleasure a woman."
"everyone, you may now touch and feel the demonstration."
my whole body jerked as various prods and motions were conceded on my pussy - Jones' hold firm around my thighs and stopping my from squirming or wriggling myself away from all the touch that made tears leak from my eyes
"can i finger her, sir?"
"absolutely, how else would you learn?"
a scream leaves my mouth as a pair of foreign fingers breaches my pussy, twisting and almost patting my inner walls curiously, before pulling away with a trail connecting his fingers to my pussy - fluid dripping between his fingers as the separated the two that had been inside my pussy
"okay, so, our first assignment will be to see how a pussy reacts when stimulated with pleasure"
everyone is given a chance to make me cum.
initially i scream and writhe on the desk whilst I'm instead pinned down, and have my pussy violated with fingers what scissor my walls and prod a sensitive spot until my juices spread over my shaky legs. then it's a tongue that breaches my hole with flicks and thrusts. they gain confidence though - and it's not long before a cock is inserted into my pussy and leaves stains of white over my pussy when he finishes.
my throat becomes so raw i cant speak - my mind a broken scramble and my pussy is so spent and broken that it doesn't even contract in horror anymore. it's completely passive as the orifice is breached over and over until...
"okay, that's good - now, as we still have a bit more time before class finishes... let's have some fun - everyone - find something in your bag or in the classroom to shove in her pussy to see how she reacts."
my mind is still scrambled - yet someone props a book beneath my head so that i can at least see all of the objects that are pushed into my hole - the pupils' cum acting as lubrication that allows the random objects to enter my pussy
a whiteboard pen, markers and other various stationary items enter first - testing the waters before someone tries to push a water bottle up there - then a chair leg that two people need to hold to effectively spear me with the metal rod
"good job today," the teacher bends to say into my ear as the students thank him and leave the classroom whilst im still starfished, energy dead on the desk. "clean yourself up and go the principal's office once you've done that. apparently he could hear all the racket in here and wanted a private meeting with you"
Note: The clit box/pussy portal concept is one I’ve seen floating around the internet since forever and I think it’s sooooo hot so here’s my take on it teehee
He’d finally done it.
His fingers trailed over the box's cool, seamless edges. A marvel of engineering, deceptively simple in its sleek titanium casing. No one would guess what lived inside. Who lived inside.
Because there, nestled in precision, pulsed a perfect replica of her pussy. Every fold, every nerve ending, every flush of blood beneath soft skin, atomically identical. Synapses wired directly to hers. A closed loop: every stroke, every touch, every cruel pinch he inflicted here would ripple through her body, her real body, with merciless accuracy.
And the inverse? Even sweeter. Every desperate clench of her cunt as she helplessly responded to his touch would answer here, in his hands, twitching like the pathetic, obedient thing it now was.
No consent. No escape. Just ownership, distilled into a box small enough to fit in his palm.
His thumb brushed the damp seam of the replica’s slit, so warm, so alive, and miles away, her breath hitched.
A grin split his face.
Time to play.
—
She’s getting ready for bed. Wearing just a big t-shirt and panties, freshly showered and sleepy. He knows because he installed cameras and microphones all throughout her apartment months ago. There isn’t a single thing she can do without him knowing.
He sits in front of his computer, multiple camera angles feeding him live video and audio. He opens the box with careful hands, her pretty pussy nestled within the lining. So cute, untouched, unsuspecting.
His fingers trail idly along the smooth, pliant flesh, and he watches as she flinches, eyes wide, glancing down at herself. He smiles.
And so it begins.
He doesn’t waste any time, his fingers moving to spread her pussy lips before he leans down and pulls her clit into his mouth, tongue moving in quick movements as he alternates between sucking and licking. He watches the way her body shuts down, shock and pleasure flooding her system as she collapses onto her bed.
He doesn’t care to give her any time to recover. Instead, he pulls his mouth away to replace his tongue with his fingers, rubbing her spit-slicked skin in tight, cruel circles, taking in the way her breath comes in fast gasps as she tries to press her legs together, confusion, fear, panic written all over her face.
It doesn’t take long before her clit is a trembling, hypersensitive nub between his fingers, swollen and darkened from relentless attention. He runs the pad of his thumb over it in slow, agonizing circles, feeling the way it pulses under his touch, tiny convulsions of pleading nerves that only make him smirk. On the screen, her legs jerk, her hips rising off the bed as her body betrays her, craving more even as her mind doesn’t undestand.
She’s a puppet, and he controls every string. He squeezes the delicate bud between his fingertips, rolling it like a toy, listening to the wet, obscene slickness of her cunt in the box mirroring the mess between her thighs on-screen. He can see the wet patch on her panties, the outline of her pretty pussy clear behind the soaked fabric.
Her clit pulses under his fingers, a trembling, engorged little nub, dark as a bruise, so swollen now that it protrudes obscenely from her slick, puffy folds. He squeezes it, watching the thin skin stretch taut, watching it throb in frantic protest.
He traces the swollen bud with his fingertip, circling slow, barely a touch, just to watch it suffer. It’s obscene how responsive she is, the little nub twitching under his attention, glistening with slick. He presses down harder, rubbing in tight little spirals, the flesh trembling beneath his fingers like a caged animal.
He lets his fingers drag lower, spreading the plush folds wide, so wet, dripping for him, even as her fists clench in the sheets. His other hand strokes her clit lazily, coaxing her higher, watching the way her hips twitch with every circling press.
He scrapes a fingernail slowly along the underside of her clit, savoring the way it quivers. Her folds flutter, her hole clenching around nothing, as if begging for something to fill her.
He indulges her, thrusting two fingers deep into the slick imitation of her pussy, relishing how the tight walls convulse.
He leans in, pressing his tongue flat against the throbbing nub in his hands, lapping at it with slow, wet drags. The way it jerks under the heat of his mouth, god, it’s beautiful. On-screen, her back arches. A broken moan tangles in her throat.
His fingers move, fucking her in deep, lazy pumps, her inner walls clenching around nothing, trying to hold onto something, anything, to anchor against the pleasure.
She rocks into it, chasing his invisible touch, teetering over the edge.
So he pulls away.
Her entire body jerks in protest because she doesn’t get to cum yet.
His fingertips trace the very edges of her clit, never touching where she needs it most, just ghosting over the hypersensitive nerves until her entire body writhes. She claws at the sheets, her thighs twitching open despite herself, her pussy clenching around nothing, her clit begging for friction.
Then, finally, he gives in, but not the way she wants. He presses the flat of his thumb down on the engorged nub, grinding in slow, mind-numbing circles, watching on the screen as her back arches wildly.
He increases the pressure just a fraction, just enough to keep her teetering. Her cunt is dripping, her clit a dark, throbbing bead under his control, her body no longer hers, just a thing, just a wet little hole responding on command.
When her thighs start to shake, when her voice breaks into a sob, he stops, watching the hope fade from her eyes.
He pulls out a fine-tipped vibrator, pressing it directly against the bundle of nerves, dialing it just under the threshold of orgasm.
A keening noise claws up her throat as the pleasure builds and builds, never cresting, never breaking, just holding her there on the edge, her cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for the release she won’t get.
He watches her writhe, soaked in sweat and shame, her body no longer her own.
And through it all, her clit pulses in his grasp, a tiny, twitching heart of suffering and ecstasy.
He can see her chest heaving from her panting breaths, so close to what she wants. And so he stops, pulling the vibrator off, watching her helpless pussy twitch and ache.
She lets out a wail, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as desperation gnaws a deep ache inside of her.
He watches the screen, half-amused, half-annoyed, as her fingers hesitantly drift between her thighs. She wants to cum and she thinks she can do it herself.
A mistake.
The moment her fingertips brush her swollen clit, his grip tightens on the replica in his hands, his thumb pressing down just enough to make her freeze.
No, no, sweet thing. That’s against the rules.
He gives her clit a harsh flick and watches as a scream rips out of her throat. But that isn’t enough to deter her, because moments after, her fingers are back on her clit, rubbing like a filthy, disobedient whore.
He sucks in an annoyed breath and picks up a thin electric rod. Without hesitating, he presses the tip against her clit and shocks her, the zapping sound ripping through the air.
A sharp, stinging jolt shoots through the tiny bundle of nerves in his palm, and oh, the way it jerks. The way she jerks, a strangled cry tearing from her lips as she yanks her hand away, thighs slamming together as if she can protect herself.
But protection isn’t an option anymore. Not from him.
He lets her pant, lets her shake, lets her think it might be over.
And then, with slow, deliberate cruelty, he pinches the clit between two fingers, holding it still before driving the electric rod against it, letting it fire off several zaps in quick succession.
She screams. The clit in his box convulses, the trapped flesh trembling violently.
He smiles.
“You’ll learn,” he murmurs, flicking the little nub again, hard. She yelps, back arching off the bed.
Her fingers stay far away now, knuckles white as she grips the sheets instead, her body trembling under his unseen control.
Good.
He drags his thumb over the sopping slit in the box, gathering slick before lazily circling the clit again, just enough to tease. Just enough to make her squirm on screen.
She bites her lip, thighs pressing together in futile resistance.
He reaches for the tiny silver clamp and arranged it around her flesh, watching it bite down on her swollen clit, the sensitive tissue protesting with every pulse. Tears well up in her eyes on the screen. She shakes her head, whispering no, no, no, but there is no mercy for her.
He twists the clamp tighter around her tortured clit, delighting as the swollen flesh bulges around the metal teeth, darkening to a lurid purple. Her whole pussy quivers in response, her hole weeping, her inner muscles spasming in confused, helpless pleasure.
He grabs the vibrator again, the toy humming to life against the clamped bud, the frequency so precise it makes her flesh flutter, muscles contracting helplessly. Her back arches off the bed, a broken noise wrenching from her throat as pleasure spikes, sharp, unbearable, inescapable. Her fingers scrabble at the sheets, hips bucking in stuttering little jerks as the toy torments the hypersensitive nerve cluster.
Drool slicks her lower lip as she pants, eyes unfocused. He watches with satisfaction as her cunt pulses around nothing, slickness dripping from her in obscene rivulets. The vibrator buzzes harder, and a broken sob tears from her, sounds of desperation spilling out of her mouth.
He adjusts the clamp a fraction tighter, then twists it just to hear her scream. The vibrator rolls slow, merciless circles, pinning her clit ruthlessly. Every nerve in her body is lit up, pleasure crackling through her in waves that crest but never break. She is no longer a woman, just a thing shaking apart between his fingers, reduced to quivering flesh and involuntary spasms.
Every pulse of the vibrator sends shockwaves through her, stomach clenching, toes curling, breath coming in jagged little gasps. But he keeps it steady, never increasing the intensity, never allowing her the relief of building toward release.
Just edging. Just an endless, torturous plateau, where she can feel the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside her but never tipping over.
"P-Please—" she whimpers, her voice thin and broken, nails digging into her own thighs as if that could ground her.
He tsks, amused. As if she has any right to beg.
With deliberate cruelty, he turns the vibrator up, just one notch.
The effect is immediate. Her stomach muscles quiver violently, her legs splaying wider in helpless invitation, her mouth dropping open in a soundless scream. The clamp keeps her clit swollen and aching, the vibrator sending sharp, concentrated pulses straight into the overstimulated nerve bundle.
And still, she doesn’t cum.
Because he won’t let her.
Not until he decides she’s suffered enough.
—
The moment finally comes, her body, strained to its absolute limit, teetering on the razor’s edge of orgasm. He can feel it in the way her clit pulses in the box, a desperate, throbbing little heartbeat between his fingers. He has denied her all night, teased her, shocked her, clamped her, ruined her, but now, at last, he will let her break.
He pulls the clamp off cruelly, watching her clit swell as blood comes rushing back, flooding her already raw nerves with new torment. Her clit trembles, swollen so fat it sticks out from between her lips, begging for mercy. He doesn’t give her a chance to recover before he presses the vibrating toy directly onto her swollen clit, cranked to the highest setting.
On screen, her entire body snaps taut, a silent scream stretching her lips wide.
"That’s it," he murmurs, watching her cunt flutter around nothing, soaking the sheets beneath her. "Cum for me."
And she does.
Hard.
Her back arches violently, her thighs locking around the empty air as her orgasm rips through her. The clit in his hands convulses, pussy spilling slick in thick pulses under his touch. He grins, keeping the vibrator pressed firm, not letting up, determined to wring every last ounce of pleasure from her until it hurts.
She thrashes, her moans turning hoarse, painfully overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop.
He laughs, low and dark.
"You think you're done?" His fingers dig into her folds, spreading them open, exposing her glistening, twitching hole to the unrelenting buzz of the vibrator. "I’m just getting started."
Another orgasm wrenches out of her, messy and uncontrollable, her cunt contracting in helpless spasms as tears streak down her face.
Her legs jerk on the screen, thighs slick with sweat and arousal, heels digging into the mattress as if she could escape the pleasure eating her alive. But she can't. Every pulse of the toy sends electric jolts straight through her clit, her pussy fluttering around empty air, dripping onto the sheets beneath her.
He smirks, circling the vibrating tip harder against the swollen bud, watching the way her stomach muscles clench, another orgasm building whether she wants it or not.
Then, with deliberate cruelty, he pulls out a vibrating dildo and presses it straight into the tight, dripping hole in the box.
Her scream splits the air, her spine bowing off the bed, fingers clawing at nothing as the thick intrusion fills her in the exact spot designed to destroy her. The moment he turns it on, her entire body bucks like a live wire, the deep, rumbling vibrations rocking through her core, pressing mercilessly against the swollen inner wall of her cunt.
The clit vibrator doesn’t stop, buzzing against her abused nub while the deeper toy punishes her g-spot, sending shocks of sensation radiating through her lower belly.
She wails, thighs slamming together in a desperate, futile attempt to stop the pleasure, but it’s impossible, her hips twitch in tiny, involuntary thrusts, her cunt clamping down around the thick vibrator like it’s trying to milk it.
Her clit jumps under the relentless onslaught, pulsing in time with the brutal vibrations, the dark, swollen flesh quivering violently under his treatment. The dildo shifts inside her, the angle just right to send another bone-deep spasm tearing through her, her back arching so sharply it looks like she’ll snap.
He grinds the vibrator deeper, angling it so the thick, ribbed tip digs ruthlessly into the spongy spot inside her, the pressure unbearable. Every thrum of the toy sends gushes of slick spilling from her hole, her pussy clenching in erratic, overstimulated spasms, not an orgasm, not anymore, just her body breaking from the relentless pleasure.
Her clit is engorged, purpling from the abuse, twitching against the buzzing toy like a dying thing, her entire pussy quivering in time with it.
And still, he doesn’t stop.
He increases the speed, the dildo drilling into her sensitive walls, the clit toy vibrating so fast it blurs, her entire body convulsing like a puppet yanked on its strings.
Another scream rips out of her, her hips jacking up off the bed, her cunt flooding the sheets as the forced pleasure tears another orgasm out of her, violent and uncontrollable. Her muscles lock, her fists slamming into the mattress as she cums, hard, messy, shameless, her hole pulsing around the vibrator, her clit throbbing in his grip like a second heartbeat.
But it’s not a release.
It’s torture.
Her eyes roll back, her moans turning to sobs as her body betrays her, cumming again, and again, her overstimulated nerves alight with agony and ecstasy.
She is nothing now.
Just a wet, trembling hole, a toy, a broken thing locked inside a box, bleeding pleasure at his command.
And he laughs, pressing down harder, watching her break.
i'm so fucking serious, y'all NEED to check profiles before reblogging. too many people i follow are reblogging from KIDS. STOP SHARING THEIR POSTS. BE MORE DILIGENT.
The first week, she can touch however she wants and cum as many times as she wants. She cums every day, sometimes twice a day.
The second week, she can still touch as much as she wants, but only through panties. And no cheating and pulling them to the side, either--the only contact that's allowed is through a layer of fabric. She cums nearly every day, her panties a sticky mess.
The third week, she can only touch through two layers of fabric. Panties and pants or a skirt. She cums once, leaving herself with messy clothes and no satisfaction the rest of the days.
The fourth week, she needs to add a blanket, too, before she can touch. She doesn't cum at all.
The fifth week, two blankets. She has to stop herself from rubbing herself on things as she walks past them, just to get some stimulation. She doesn't cum.
The sixth week, she loses the use of her hands to touch. Instead, she can only hump a pillow, and only through two blankets and two layers of clothing. She's rarely not wet. She doesn't cum.
The seventh week, the pillow and blanket go away, but she can only hump the air, still fully clothed. She's desperate enough to try for hours. She doesn't cum.
The eighth week, the humping stops, too. She can try to clench her legs together, but only when wearing panties and pants. She tries anyway. She doesn't cum.
The ninth week, her clothes are taken away, but she's strapped to a spreader bar and allowed no stimulation at all. She leaks constantly. She doesn't cum.
The tenth week, a vibrator is pressed against her clit and turned on to the highest level.
Curiosity. You knew you weren't supposed to touch them.
Master kept them in the black box on the top shelf of his closet, the one you'd seen him open only a few times. You weren't even supposed to know they existed. But you'd watched, curious, filing the information away for a moment exactly like this one. When you'd be bored, alone, wondering what it would feel like to have something that potent coursing through you.
The vial was small. Pale pink liquid, almost innocuous. You only took a sip.
A few minutes later, you understand your mistake.
It starts as warmth. A flush across your chest that spreads downward, pooling between your legs with an intensity that makes you gasp. Your skin prickles. Every touch against your body feels amplified, electric. You're wet almost immediately. Completely soaked, really, in a way that feels obscene. Your clit throbs like a second heartbeat.
You press your thighs together. It only makes it worse.
Fine, you think. You'll just take care of it.
Your hand slides between your legs with practiced ease. You find yourself swollen, aching, so sensitive that the first touch makes you whimper. This will be fast. This will be easy. You're already right there, already climbing toward...
Nothing.
You rub faster. Harder. You try circling, pressing, everything that usually works. The pleasure builds and builds, cresting toward something that never arrives. You're gasping, hips rocking against your own hand, so close you could scream, but the orgasm stays just out of reach. Like a door that won't open. Like a sneeze that won't come.
You try for ten minutes. Twenty. An hour.
By the time you give up, you're trembling, drenched in sweat, nearly crying with frustration. Your whole body feels like an exposed nerve. The sheets beneath you are wet. Every movement sends sparks through you that go nowhere, build toward nothing, they just layer on top of each other until you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin,
You have to tell him.
-----
You find Master in his study. He looks up when you enter, takes in your flushed face, your unsteady breathing, the way you're pressing your thighs together.
His expression shifts from curiosity to understanding to something cold.
"What did you do?"
Your confession comes out in a tumble. The box. The vial. Just a sip. You didn't know. You're sorry. You're so sorry. Help. Please.
"Come here."
Your legs carry you to him before your brain catches up. He pulls you across his lap in one smooth motion, flipping up the hem of your dress. You're not wearing anything underneath, you'd taken your panties off an hour ago, soaked through and useless.
The first spank lands hard enough to jolt you forward.
And you moan.
The pain blooms into something else entirely. Heat and pleasure tangled together, radiating outward from where his hand struck. It's almost... god, it's almost enough. You can feel yourself clenching, desperate, so close...
But not quite. Never quite.
"Stupid slut." His voice is stern, you realize how serious this is. Another spank, and your whole body shudders. "You went through my things. Took something that wasn't yours. And now look at you."
Spank. You whimper.
"Do you even know what that was?"
You shake your head, the tears are starting to form. You're dripping down your thighs now, so horny it's almost painful.
"It's designed to make girls like you into dumb little nymphomaniacs. Desperate. Aching. Unable to think about anything but being filled." Another spank, and you sob with how good it feels, and how useless the goodness is. "But it doesn't let you cum. That's the point. It keeps you right at the edge, wanting and wanting and wanting. Until it's all you'll ever want."
"Can you fix it?"
"There's nothing I can do. You just have to wait it out. A few hours, maybe more." His hand rubs over the hot skin of your ass, almost soothing, and you push back into it helplessly. "You did this to yourself."
Spank. You're crying now, trembling, every nerve ending screaming.
"I can't even use you like this," he says, and there's genuine regret in his voice. "If I fucked you while it's in your system, it would lock the changes in place. Permanently." His fingers trail down, brushing against your slick folds. "You'd be like this forever. Brain gone, dripping out your cunt. Just a mindless, needy thing."
The sound you make isn't quite human.
"You wouldn't want that, would you?"
You should say no. You know you should say no.
But his fingers are still touching you, light as a feather, and your hips are chasing the contact without your permission, and the thought of being like this forever... never having to think about anything but the ache between your legs and the man who controls whether it ever gets satisfied...
"Answer me."
"No," you whisper. "No, I wouldn't want that."
He hums, unconvinced.
"Liar." Another spank, hard enough to leave a mark. "But that's okay." He pulls you upright, settling you on his lap so you can feel exactly how much your desperation affects him. "There's plenty of time for me to get the truth out of you."
part two & pt three // Kinktober '25 Schedule // More Kinktober // Masterlist 2.0
Synopsis: When you take $10,000.00 to be the sole successful participant in a rather unique study, the money offered continues to grow when they want to run more and more invasive tests. What’d started as some basic stimulation tests between magically linked sex toys to you quickly escalates into so, so much more.
Warnings: POV switches a bit, explicit nsfw content–porn no plot AT ALL; consensual sexual tests run on the reader, magic sex toys (think portal pussy but with every hole), research/medical/scientific kink, monetary payment offered but it’s all consensual, it’s for genuine research (mostly); sex toys used (anal plug, anal beads, various dildos and vibrators), reader is blindfolded, earplugs & noise-canceling headphones used for a bit, restraints used & the reader is held down at one point, clit stim, nipple stim, nipple clamps (vibrating and normal), fingering (vaginal and anal), slight edging/orgasm denial, oral (reader receiving, reader deepthroating a dildo, and fem!researchers receiving), anal and vaginal sex via the sex toys, protected anal and vaginal sex (with the reader), (anal and vaginal sex with the linked toys and the reader at the same time), multiple orgasms, overstim but different, squirting, and mentions of aftercare // if i missed anything that should be tagged, please let me know!
Word Count: 6k
A/N: Idk it’s Kinktober and I’m ovulating. Here’s an extra nonsense story <3 I woke up today running on very little sleep, not intending to write this, and it was edited right after writing, so I apologize in advance for any missed errors (I'm sorry)!
**** indicates a sort of POV switch
It was a brand new, extremely experimental, highly sensitive project. The kind you certainly didn’t write home about, and the kind that definitely found its way into your consideration for the promised cash payment. All you had to do post-signing-up was show up, let them say a spell or two, and then you’d simply say yes or no if you could feel each test they administered.
So you sat in the cold, white research room while over half a dozen of those working on the project milled about. You knew what the project was for. Knew exactly what the $10,000.00 cash tucked into the envelope in your purse was for. But it was just a few tests. Easy, fully clothed, verbal confirmation tests.
They rolled the sterilized metal table to face you more, the objects neatly aligned on their stands. The spells they'd said were distant words you couldn't recall, but you'd already nodded when they'd asked if you could feel the tingling connection when they'd finished. You could–it was a warm hum underneath your clothing that already had a bit of sweat forming at your brow. But that could've also been the anticipation.
The silicone facing you was highly detailed. Granted, for what they were, toys had already gotten far in looking real. They were soft and giving, and they replicated what they generically needed to replicate. Breasts, nipples, vagina, clit, an asshole, and a mouth. Still, you swallowed hard listening to the murmured conversation, and you gripped the edge of that metal table they'd seated you on.
“You will be blindfolded to prevent any phantom sensations by merely watching,” one said before a thick black strip of fabric was tied over your eyes. “We will begin momentarily, so we just need you to speak when you begin to feel something. We have a series of tests to run through, some a bit more invasive to test the maintained connection, then you will be finished. Okay?”
“Okay,” you breathed.
And you braced yourself against that metal edge warmed by your touch. In blistering, stomach-flipping anticipation, you waited. $10,000.00. You swallowed hard. It was so worth it for $10k cash.
Just a few tests. Ones that might not even work–
Beneath your thick sweater, underneath your bra, you felt it. The warm, gloved touch. A brush of fingers underneath your breast, following the curve up. A jolt at the touch had you pulling back from nothing. Nobody was in front of you, magically slipping underneath your shirt. It wasn't lifted. Your bra didn't magically vanish. No, as you leaned back from nobody's touch, the gloved fingers went higher, and they brushed over both nipples.
“Yes,” you stuttered, eyes wide behind the blindfold. Not that you didn’t think it was possible–surely if they were offering so much money, they had some semblance of a success they needed to recreate, but still. Actually experiencing the slow connection of their fingers pinching your nipples without actually touching you? “Yes, I feel that.”
“Good, human contact is successful. We need to test artificial,” he stated.
Artificial…?
Oh.
Oh.
The actual coldness of the metal was somehow there and faraway at the same time. It didn’t entirely make sense how you were able to process it. But magic was magic, so. One tight metal clamp closed around one nipple, and the rip of pinching pleasure shot through to your spine and went lower.
“Yes–”
A second clamp closed on your other nipple.
Tight, there, but not. A low throbbing bullied its way beneath your shirt. It was…strange. The sensation of the sharp pinching that was there but wasn’t. Squeezing the table’s edge, you fought the urge to reach up just to feel yourself through your sweater. The throbbing acted in tandem with the clamps, but there was more to it. A necessity you couldn’t fully put to words–that you wouldn’t put to words for them–that you ached to touch yourself beyond the means of just…checking. Your nipples ached, that’s as plain as it got, and they ached for contact.
“Yes, I can…I can feel both,” you breathed.
“Good.”
The clamps released.
The ache remained.
The metal was a soft clack on the table, and with a little tilt of your head to listen to what the blindfold was now painfully keeping hidden, there was a brush against your lips. A gloved finger, unmistakably. It was a subconscious response. Again, you reared back from nothing. There wasn't anyone or anything but you and the air around you. But there, again, fingers touched your lips, pushed past with just a little bit of force, and you could feel two pressing down on your tongue.
“Mhm,” was all you managed to get out. Muffled yet…not. They weren’t actually in there, but the pressure kept your tongue down and mouth closing around their fingers.
“Okay,” came as a distant murmur, and then fingers retreated.
There was only a half-second pause before your mouth went from swallowing empty to taking in a wooden tongue depressor, pushing your tongue down as the fingers had. The woody taste was flat and bitter, but not entirely direct. You made the same muffled mhm sound as best as you could, fighting back the urge to push up on what wasn’t actually there.
It retreated.
"We will be moving on," someone else said. Her voice came in from the left as adjustments were made to your right. The soft scratching from pencils carried across papers. More papers rustled, and your pulse was through the roof. With a held breath, you waited for what exactly moving on meant.
A quiver in your thighs traveled down to your toes.
It’d be just a few more tests.
Sensitive ones, but $10k. Yeah.
You fought the subconscious need to nod.
In all but seconds, as you listened to the air conditioning run through the vents above you, while pencils scratched against papers, you felt it underneath your jeans. Beyond the thick seam and the awkward inadvertent touch of your thighs together. Past your belt, button, and zipper. Underneath your underwear came the warm, gloved touch over you. Just a stroke over your folds. Like the graze of a paintbrush on a canvas.
Tension shot through from your hitched breath down to your curling toes.
“I can feel that.”
You breathed through your teeth.
Higher up the finger went. Light as a feather still, parting your folds in the process, you sat in wait. A heart-stopping, grip-tightening wait. They were going to test every spot, weren’t they? It was important. It was about making sure the pleasure connections were there. What good would it serve if there was just minimal connection? They had to test–
The finger brushed over your clit.
“Yes,” you cracked out. It was a rash reaction, but the pad of their finger ran over your clit directly. Back and forth. They were idle touches and nothing more, but sweet hell. It continued. With a bit more pressure behind the strokes. “Yes, yes, I…I can feel that.”
The touch retreated. The air conditioning hum battled with the flicker of your pulse. The thrumming in your ears found your head. They were just tests. Important tests. This was what you signed up for. You knew it was coming. You’d prepped yourself for it.
Still, when the cold silicone touched your clit, you jolted so hard you gasped. It was a perfect circle that came with a soft touch at first, then a second long brought more pressure. Not hard or even remotely uncomfortable, but as you nodded, the person applying it seemed to settle it firmer against you.
“We will conduct a quick test just to test external stimulation success,” one said.
The words drowned in the sea of ambiguity that suddenly made a whole lot of sense when that firm press wasn’t just a tongue depressor equivalent. A near-silent click caught your attention before it was suddenly eviscerated. All focus fell into a pinpoint on your clit. Where the hum of the air conditioning and the thrum of your heart had been in your head, all that encapsulated it was an abrupt vibration against your clit. Low in intensity, but it was still a vibrator to your clit. Directly to your clit.
“Oh my god.”
A quiet laugh echoed out to your right.
“I would say she can feel it,” someone said.
“We need to test the varying levels, but we can return to that,” another said. Click. The vibrations kicked off just as your clit began to ache. Not that general ache of stimulation, but when the sensations cut, you felt the slight release in tension that only came in slight. The seam of your jeans pressed up against your clit, and it pulsed against the thick material to ask for more attention. A pulsing that sank deeper than just surface level.
Your cunt clenched. A dampness in your underwear turned your senses up a notch.
“We will conduct another external test, and then two internal ones,” someone said. “Then, the general testing will be complete.”
“Okay,” you muttered.
One more external and then two internal?
A flash of the objects laid out on the table came up.
One more external and two internal…that could only mean….
There was a gentle pressure against your asshole. Warm, gloves, and slick with lube. It was just one slender finger running slow circles. Careful, delicate circles. Much like the touch against your clit. Just rubbing. Yes, you could feel that. You started nodding frantically, hardly able to find the single word yes. But the scratching pencils told you they'd gotten your answer. The pressure still pushing against your asshole, however, came with a gradual increase. More and more and more.
Oh.
Your breath caught in a sharp gasp.
Their finger pushed into you. Stretching. Bit by bit, you gave way with an ease only possible with the toy they had their finger in. It seemed to correlate with you, even if you weren't lubed. Knuckle by knuckle, they pushed in. Oh, god. You didn’t mean to clench around them, but you could feel their hand against your bottom. Bottomed out. Wiggling–Jesus Christ–they wiggled their finger.
“Yes. I…. Yes, yes, I can…feel…that,” you said through careful breaths.
“Good,” some said, her voice static and unaffected.
A gradual pull left you empty and feeling partially gaping. But it wasn't a long sensation. Cold and lube silicone roughly the same size as the finger came to replace it. As gradual as the finger had entered and left, the thin rod-like thing pushed into you. Deeper–it went deeper than the finger, and you…. Keeping still and casual was a fight. How were you supposed to sit on that table, nodding your head and sputtering that you could feel it not be anything but awkward?
A part of you wanted to fall back, but it was general testing!
So you gripped the edge of the table until your knuckles went white and clenched your jaw until it hurt. Casual. Professional. Click. The rod hummed to life, and your gasp brought more notes to pages. Wait. Pages fluttered. The rod stayed on and pulled out, then pushed back in. Oh, god. You nodded. And nodded. And nodded.
“Good.”
Click.
Off.
Out.
Empty.
The darkness of the blindfold blurred. How, you had no idea. But when the tension released from your shoulders and you slumped, everything felt a little blurry and off-kilter. No hair stood on end. No discomfort. But your asshole pulsed and you were…so empty. Tests, they were just tests. Ones meant to simulate sex and foreplay, so it made sense to get a little aroused. It…it was fine.
It was totally and completely fine.
One warm, gloved finger was back on your cunt. A pass over your clit made you twitch, and the path lower was a mark for the final test. A light ringing hit your ears as more fingers spread you, and the tip of one finger touched your entrance. Pushing back to get a better position on the exam table, right as you sank down to really sit, the finger sank into you.
Just like in your ass, knuckle by knuckle, it pushed in. So, so slowly. Filling you up with a curl. A nice, careful curl. A curl that brushed right over your sweet spot. Oh, fuck. It wasn’t stagnant. While you sat there, thighs spreading involuntarily, it pumped. And curled. And pumped and curled in slow, almost teasing strokes.
“Yes,” you threw out there on a cracked moan. You hadn’t said you could feel it. “Yes, yes, I can feel that. Yes.”
Their finger pressed all the way back in, and there was a quiet hum.
“Good.”
Then, you were empty again.
Then, the cold, roundish tip of something silicone touched your entrance.
It was wider than the finger, but nothing abhorrent. Lubed up, it pushed into you and filled you right on up. The slight stretch was a sudden tease, and you couldn't help it. Your elbows hit the table with a thud. Equilibrium was off, and for a moment, you worried you might tumble to the floor. Just for insertion! This was bad. But the scribble of pencils said they took that as the necessary answer.
You were fine.
This was just research.
Click.
“Oh, my–”
That vibration test echoed to life in your cunt. Right against your sweet spot, your head fell back, and you had to grit your teeth and bear the pleasure. Couldn't moan. Couldn't gasp. Just had to bite the bullet that you'd already thrown your head back, you couldn't do more than that. Had to fight it. Had to face it. Had to nod your head.
“I can feel that, yes.”
In and out.
They pulled the toy in and out, practically fucking you on it.
“Yes,” you pushed out.
In and out. In and out, all the way to the vibrating tip. And….
Click.
“Good,” someone said.
“Great,” from another.
That tension faded into obscurity and embarrassment. Shaking like a leaf in the breeze, you just lay there. Your underwear was soaking wet and your cunt…. Parts of you were throbbing that shouldn't still be throbbing and clenching that shouldn't be clenching. But it…they…. Whatever. That was the preliminary testing done.
You managed to get back upright like normal after a minute or so, the blindfold still intact. Pencils scribbled down notes. Papers fluttered. Footsteps came closer, but not entirely near.
“Given how well you’ve reacted to the tests and the success with each, we would like to offer you another $5,000.00 to advance the next set of tests we were already going to complete. They will just be a bit more…intensive than originally planned. Nothing will be confirmed without prior consent. We just have not had a compatible subject with such success yet, and we wish to take advantage of such a case. If you are willing.”
Your hands twitched on the table’s edge. An extra $5k? For…a higher intensity, huh?
“What do the tests entail?” you asked softly. There was a rough edge in your voice that hadn’t been there at the start. What were you doing? You didn’t let yourself answer the question.
“Well, we need to essentially test that all connections remain intact while in use. Simple touch tests can provide the simple responses, yes. But it would be great to test higher intensity activities together to make sure all can remain working properly without conflict. We would hate for connection to be lost during the moment.”
…
You swallowed hard.
Incense activities?
“We will have to simulate various activities in repeated tests to check the maintained connection. We will require verbal confirmation throughout to make sure all is correct. Really, it is not much different. The initial tests are simple finger stimulation and insertion. This would be additional stimulation of a higher intensity, that is all.”
So…it…. Okay….
“We will offer $7,000.00 if you are willing to strip for the tests so we can see any bodily reaction,” someone said behind the woman talking to you.
$7,000.00? $7k. You’d be walking away from the tests with $17,000.00. Sweet fuck.
What else were you supposed to say to that? Seriously. Seriously, $17,000.00.
That would cover multiple months of rent and help you pay off the last of your car. So then…. Then.
Then, you cleared your throat and nodded slowly.
“Okay. $7,000.00. I consent.”
Behind the blindfold, you could still see the room light up.
“Fantastic,” the woman said. “I will help you out of your clothes and back onto the table.”
****
Truthfully, the tests were simple but invasive. You were laid out stark naked on the metal table, blindfolded, and shaking uncontrollably. Stripping you down was nothing but necessary for the tests. But eyes still wandered. Seeing the peaks of your nipples in the cold air and the glistening over your cunt was definitely a great sign. And sight.
You kept your thighs together and scrunched up a little, but it wouldn’t last.
If the tests remained successful, you’d be begging them to keep running them.
But $17,000.00 was an okay price to pay for success.
They’d all be making ten times that when this hit the market.
The group of researchers watched you with eagerness. Anticipation was a curse upon the room amongst them and you, but patience had to be called for. The next cart was wheeled in, and more gloves were pulled onto the hands of assistants. They'd be stimulating every sensitive part of your body for the next…three hours? Maybe more. They couldn't just jump up to the highest intensity just to make sure it worked. Longevity was part of it.
There was already another stack of $10,000.00 waiting for you when this was over to allow them to check for distance after you left. Within that testing, yes, there came another intensity level check. If they sent you on your way with a thrusting dildo in you and a vibrator on your clit, would the sensations remain just as strong a step outside the building as it would while you slept in bed? Would it remain for hours on end, or would it eventually fade into the background to be ignored?
And more importantly, as these tests in-house would also test, would the participant cum?
If yes, would they be able to repeatedly? Would they be overstimulated if their body wasn't actually experiencing the direct contact, or would the sixth orgasm feel as incredible as the first?
What if there was stimulation on the toys and on the person? If someone was fucking your cunt through means of the toy and in-person, what would you feel? What if a vibrator was strapped to the clit on the toy and someone knelt between your legs and sucked it into their mouth? Questions. Endless questions. And you were the perfect guinea pig; you just had to be worked up to the point of agreeing to work with them. But those were such intense tests…. These early ones had to be conducted first.
So, with everyone gathered in the proper places, it was time to begin.
Test One: simply touching. In your mouth, where you muffled around the two fingers. On your nipples, where they were pinched just enough. Down where one finger pushed into your asshole while one entered your cunt. Then, up on your clit, pressure. Just a little bit of pressure on the silicone bud.
Notes were written as you seemed to stall out a little on the table. It was quite a lot to endure at once. But as your hands fell to the sides of the table to squeeze, your thighs pressing and rubbing together, it was obvious before you even muffled a yes.
Good.
Test Two: All fingers retreated, and the same was recreated without pause with the silicone toys.
The arch in your back came through nicely. The researchers all reacted in tandem. The clamps added to your nipples were tugged, and the toys between your legs all clicked on at the same time.
Test Two already made you moan. Much like a broken, gasping sound, it cut through the silent research room with success written all over it.
The lead researcher held up her hand. The way your back continued to arch said you could orgasm if they simply decided to leave you like that. But this wasn’t about that yet. And any denial prior to then was considered helpful, so she just gave you those few extra teasing seconds before lowering her hand.
All were removed. More notes were written.
“Tests from this point forward will be with movement,” she said plainly. They would be. This wasn’t some malicious research study. They had to run each test to be sure. You’d agreed. You’d taken the payments. “And repeated penetration. May we continue?”
A hitch in your breath was all that the next pause was, then you nodded.
Test Three: Fingers closed around your nipples in place of the clamps and pinched hard. Not painfully, but as you gasped at the touch, three fingers pumped into your mouth. Two found your cunt and pushed in very, very slowly, two found your asshole and did the same, and up on your clit, attention was given. Light and slow, in gentle circles. Barely there, but looking back….
One hand went over your head, and your thighs parted. Enjoyment was a positive sign. Not inherently an important one, so long as the stimulation was noted, but enjoyment worked in their benefit. Your cunt was dripping onto the table, and you outright writhed as more pressure was applied to your clit.
“Contractions,” two said one right after the other as their fingers pumped into you.
“Oh, so you can feel them?” the lead asked. You breathed through your teeth behind them, and out came a whine. “Good. That’s really good.”
Test Four: Was the same with merely added intensity. You propped your feet up on the table and let your legs fall wide open for everyone to see you jerk with every thrust of the fingers into you. Taking them like someone was practically fucking you right there on the table. Your initial awkwardness upon arrival dripped out of you right down onto that table. Good. Comfort made this better.
The lead researcher nodded, and more attention was given to your clit. Direct, unrelenting attention. Tight, faster circles that made your hips lift up off the table. Your orgasm impending. But not yet. It wasn’t the right time just yet. But that meant you could cum quickly, and that was also perfect. Just short of walking into the research building and offering yourself up naked and willing to do it for free, you were turning out to be the perfect participant.
Test Five: Silicone returned. A small dildo was pushed past your lips and you choked on nothing but air behind them. Vibrating clamps closed around your nipples. A thick vibrating plug was pushed in right to the thickest part, pulled out, pushed in, pulled out, and then pushed right back into your ass while you writhed on the table. On your cunt, the circular vibrator was pressed back to your clit directly, and lower, lubed up, an average-sized vibrator gradually pushed inside of you.
“We will run the next test with simulated sex with these,” the lead researcher said upon your initial consent. You nodded to both.
Click. You had to be held down. None moved inside of you outside of the low vibrations, but the way you jerked, four assistants had to rush over and pin you to the table. Hands back by your head, ankles and legs held against their stomachs, they pinned you properly so others could take the necessary notes. The position provided the perfect view for such required notes. There was a physical reaction. There was no hint beyond your arousal that you had every hole filled. Your clit didn’t so much as twitch when the vibrator was lifted and someone rolled it between their thumb and forefinger.
Yes, you lurched and lashed. Yes, your cunt dropped and clenched. But as they moved onto Test Six–thrusting the toys in every hole–you were subsequently empty in your sudden squirming.
The lead researcher stood over you, watching. How you pulled and whined, rocking your hips before stopping, clearly trying to act professional. The test would only last about another ten seconds, but she could see it. You could feel her watching you, and you knew as well as she did that you were close to climaxing.
But….
Click.
You threw your head back. Sweat sheened, and your body went limp.
She walked around to stand beside you, bending over with new ideas popping in at a dangerous speed and with questionable ethics.
“Can we apply dual stimulation?” she asked beside your ear. “For an extra $10,000. In accordance with our testing the distance between here and your home, I want to apply stimulation to the toys directly and to you.” She looked over your aching nipples. “Think about it. While we finish this round of testing.”
Test Seven: Before you could answer, she held up her hand to begin. Click. The next level of intensity shot through the toys. Pumping in and out of you, the lube squelched like you yourself were getting fucked in both holes. Your scream was partially muffled, and your hips lifted again. Tried to, at least.
“Can you feel it in your mouth?” the lead researcher asked, pointlessly. She knew you could.
You still nodded.
“Can you feel it on your nipples?”
Again, you nodded.
“Your clit?”
Your whine said yes.
“Your asshole? Do you feel the vibrators inside your asshole? Inside your cunt?”
Two more whines that said yes, yes. You did. You most certainly did. You did because there, pulling at those pinning you down, you started squirming again. Pulling and pushing, back and forth, trying to get yourself back to wherever you were trying to go, but there you were arching your back off the table and choking on a dildo that wasn't actually in your mouth.
There, you screamed out a broken moan, and your orgasm came over you violently. The exact way they’d needed it to. Violent, unforgiving, and just perfectly. The pleasure erupted improperly because nobody was actually touching you, and your body twitched and shifted. You took the thrusts of the toys with your head back and pussy dripping. Fucked in all holes–barely, they’d barely started giving you real thrusts and strength–you clenched empty and aching. And yet?
Yet, you still came.
Click.
“Test Eight,” the lead researcher declared with a hint of amusement in her voice.
You flinched at the words, but there was no denial.
Click.
The next of five intensity levels. The lead researcher bent over the table and whispered in your ear. We have so many more tests we need to run. Will you help us? Seeing how many ways we can reach an orgasm with these is imperative. If you’re willing.
Test Nine.
The penultimate intensity was locked in. You came again. Thrashing on the table, more were called in to hold you down. The lead researcher watched from between your legs when your climax hit. Hardly any evidence that you were being fucked senseless. If you could keep yourself together, nobody would know. A good selling point for the exhibitionists. Sort of.
Interesting.
Test Ten.
Test Ten was quite a lot for you. The toys drilling into you harder than before whilst on the highest settings? The one on your clit was turned on last out of courtesy, and when that click came through, it was immediately silenced by your shriek.
It only took seconds.
Literal seconds. Successful seconds.
Whatever words you'd been aiming to speak were immediately torn to smithereens. Your cunt gushed empty and aching in the sudden burst of your orgasm. It ripped through you as violently as your first one had, but this one…. The lead researcher didn't hold up their hand, and the panic came across your face immediately when the stimulation didn't stop. It was a good testing point.
The way you fell into the pleasure was visible. From the rush of your orgasm into the mind-shattering pleasure that remained, it was a partial answer. You were overstimulated, but differently. Sobbing, but barely begging, your hips lifted and your back arched, and just like that, you came. Again.
Came with another shriek and came with such a successful force, it was fantastic.
All while you lie completely untouched. Your poor clit was swollen, but it wasn't from touch. It wanted.
How fascinating. You were multiple orgasms in, and your body technically hadn’t had a real one yet. Just a brush against your clit said you’d cum. But at the wave of her hand, the test finished. It was unethical to touch you without permission. And the way you collapsed when the clamps were removed and the toys were pulled out, you were in need of a break she didn’t entirely want to give. But….
She walked over to you slowly. Everyone took the notes she didn't need to take. Left in a sweaty, gushing mess, she just bent over you. Your chest heaved, and tears dampened the blindfold just enough to be visible, but she was undeterred.
“Will you walk out of here $27,000.00 richer for just a few extra tests?” She paused. You wanted that $27k. Badly. But…. “We need to test simultaneous stimulation. I will raise it to $30,000.00 if you roll onto your knees and chest and allow us to penetrate you.”
$30,000.00. Holy…. It….
Your chest stuttered on your next breath.
Notes were still written. Your body still hadn’t fully relaxed.
$30k.
Fuck it.
Fuck it!
Your nod was barely there, but it was a nod.
And with a careful, moaning roll, the tests continued.
****
They had to tie you down. You drooled onto the metal table, the minutes ticking by into hours. How a little stimulation test turned into this, you had the answer as cash in your purse, but sweet fuck. They’d started with the toys first, pushing beads one by thickening one into your ass there and using the same toy on you. Literally on you. Lubing you up and working you open with a slender finger first, then giving them to you.
In together. Out together. Then alternating. Magically, they were pushed in, while literally, they came out. Being stretched at different sizes while being filled and emptied at the same time made no sense, but it felt so out of the world incredible, you couldn’t breathe.
They did the same with their fingers in your cunt. Gloved fingers pushed into the toy, then out, then two more ran over your aching cunt like a torturous tease before pushing in. And when they pushed in, sweet hell, it was a whole other ballgame. The difference between the toys and the real thing was felt then. Prominently.
But as they pulled out of your cunt and pushed back in whilst those in the toy did the same, there was no time to linger on such a thought. They fucked you together, making you whine onto the table.
The tests weren’t stated anymore. They just started touching and didn't stop until you were quivering and clenching. The bindings on your ankles and wrists kept you pinned clean to the table. One strap went higher over the backs of your knees to keep you steady, and another went over your shoulders.
They gave you earplugs so you couldn't hear any comments or commands.
Blindfolded and deafened, you just listened to the beat of your pulse while you drooled and moaned. Gloved fingers alternated in fucking your cunt with a not-so-gradual increase in intensity.
You didn’t hear them when the lead researcher said to rub your clit on you while directing one of the assistants to lick the one on the toy. Didn’t have to, though. You felt their tongue drag over you the second before the finger touched you and rubbed. Pleasure spiked in an instant. Your clit was finally given attention, and it came with a phantom wrap of lips around it and a suck that made you scream.
It happened so fast. Clenching around the fingers. Spasming and twitching. The rush of pleasure rippling from the contact on your clit and the curl of the fingers in your cunt. You sobbed uncontrollably when your orgasm hit you like it was the first of the night, and you gushed. Sprayed.
All over the table and the person behind you.
You came.
Their fingers, their mouths–they continued without pause. Even literally on you, they continued. It was so much. So, so much. You said as much against the table, but they continued. They pushed and pushed and pushed until you were there again. Again! Tears dampened the blindfold in your second, powerful, overwhelming orgasm.
You dripped down your thighs.
The tests continued.
When a signed contract to act as their official test subject for $30.50/hr was in your purse with your messy signature on it, your throat was raw and scratchy as hands gripped your hips. The table was lowered, and your position was changed just enough to fit someone underneath you. The hours ticked by. The earplugs were changed to noise-cancelling headphones, and the blindfold stayed on. Your hands were bound behind your back then, with a harsh grip holding onto the rope keeping them together.
On the table, alternating thrusts, two assistants fucked you, and one stood next to the table with her skirt up. Both holes were stuffed full with alternating rough thrusts. Out of sight, your orgasms were tallied on a whiteboard for you to see when you were finished. Behind you, however, the test found its second important layer.
Three more assistants and the head researcher stood with the toys. One played with the silicone nipples in varying-strengthed pinches and pulls. Two more mimicked those at the table with you, their pants down, the toys off their stands, fucking into you slow at first, then they matched the rhythm of the other two. A small vibrator was taped to the toy just at your clit.
The mouth one came underneath the head researcher’s skirt, locked there where she felt every motion you did to the assistant standing beside the table.
It was for research. To see if you could really feel everything. When they put their fingers inside the toys, they could feel you warm and wet and clenching. And now they could say that oral could be reciprocated that way. It could even be done so efficiently that orgasm could be reached.
She locked the toy against herself in proof of that.
And….
And orgasm could be reached multiple times while clearly overstimulated with multiple cocks penetrating you. Granted, it was one in each hole, and there was a vibrator on your clit. But you were being fucked senseless in four ways, and you spasmed and screamed with orgasm after orgasm.
Until cum dripped out of both toys, and the assistants were pulling their pants up.
Until the condoms were full and you were left with a glistening mouth and gaping, clenching holes on the table.
The head researcher set the mouth replica aside.
“We will be running various tests of this nature every night for the foreseeable future,” she said beside you, lifting up the headphones. Water, towels, snacks, and a robe were brought next. Those who had to wait their turn for next time to…run the test…took very gentle touches to you to clean you up. “Do you have a short, casual dress?”
You barely nodded. You did.
“Good. Bring it tomorrow. We will be testing how prominent the spell remains while you complete other tasks. It requires frequent checks, and a dress makes it easy.” She gave your back a small pat. “My assistants will help you. See you tomorrow at 9:00 AM. Oh, and fill out this sheet if you feel anything during the night or experience any reactions in the morning.”
A folder with a dozen sheets was set aside for you. To note symptoms, to write about what you’d thought they’d done to you via the toys during the night. All set up neatly for you to fill out and them to check. Ones that’d be handed out to countless others if they could perfect the product and bring in other participants. Then, they could have you test the products on each other at will and randomly.
"Thank you for signing on with us. You'll see an additional $500.00 be deposited into your account as a sign-on bonus."
It felt laughable compared to the $40k in your purse, but comparatively…. You'd taken a small chunk of the fortune awaiting them. It'd take about a year of testing, and they'd be the most successful product of its kind on the market. With you as their top tester and advocate.
But…you had to get through that year first, and in that year came a lot of tests.
It made incredible money, and with all the orgasms attached?
girl who treats transition like a fandom: hehe i love my cute blahaj and my sockies abd my [INSERT COMMUNITY SIGNIFIER] hehe. lets get naked and have sex
girl who treats transition like a religion: a Body is a Vessel. And a Vessel is Shaped by the Reflections inside a Mirror. A Girl is a Mirror. lets get naked and have sex
girl who treats transition like an ideology: bodies and identities are simply canvases we choose to project our beliefs onto. i am asserting my right to self determination. lets get naked and have sex
girl who treats transition like an elite social club only she and her friends are invited to: snrrrk. cissies think they could ever have a fraction of what we have. its pathetic really. lets get naked and have sex
girl who treats transition like a karmic punishment: why did i have to be born in the wrong body oh my god i hate myself so much. im doomed. lets get naked and have sex but we have to keep the lights off or ill start crying
girl who treats transition like a sex thing: hey you guys wanna play ape escape 2? i fucking love that game
Hey so, I'm an FTM on T and I wrapped a bunch of ropes and a belt around my bladder while holding and either my uterus or my bladder has been bleeding a bit since yesterday, so maybe don't do that, especially if you're also FTM on T because T makes your downstairs weaker and way more susceptible to damage. I'm telling you this because your doctor probably won't because our bodies are understudied and Dr Google isn't very helpful at all.
Seconding this. It's not fun and it's not cute when you get hurt in a way that can't be fixed. Even if it feel like just pretend to you it is still real life with real people, and can have real consequences.
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
titsay
yousharknotpass
