HappyComeLucky

Fucking machines. Oh my goodness, I could be here for hours telling you about how many fantasies I have had about fucking machines. My electric bill would certainly be higher if I had one and it got as much action as it does in my fantasies.

My fucking machine fantasies always have an element of humiliation and degradation to them. Those are the bits that make me squirm. If you know me, you’ll be able to predict that a machine that fucks me with a dildo of whatever size I choose is a heavenly idea for me. In reality, the sensation would definitely get me off, but the fantasy of that time with the indulgent luxury of a tireless thruster isn’t enough to make my mind writhe and make my cunt twitch with the energy that degradation brings.

My fantasies have me being bound so that I cannot move. Not a little bit of restraint but specifically tied so that I cannot push back against each thrust. Being fastened down and told that my greed means nothing and will not help me now. There are always clamps too. Sometimes just biting at my nipples, sometimes dragging them down with weights. Lastly a gag. Sometimes a drool gag, sometimes a ring gag, sometimes the cruelty of a ring gag with my tongue extended and pegs pinching and holding it out.

Then, when everything is to their satisfaction, they turn on the machine, slowly increasing the speed until it gets to almost too much. They look at me with sadistic satisfaction, commenting on what an utter slut I am to need fucking with a machine. They taunt me with ideas of what else I would take to assuage my hunger and then, they condescendingly pat me on the head and leave the room.

They might wander back a couple of times to nonchalantly check. They may sit down and turn on the TV, or maybe phone a friend. It doesn’t really matter what they do except that they are not fully engaged with me.

When a timer on their phone sounds, they slow down the machine a little, and let me hope that they are about to release me from the restraints, the clamps and the gag. But not yet. They chose that ring gag for a reason. With their hand tight in my hair to hold me still, they fuck my face until they flood my throat. Its so hard to swallow it all properly with a gag in and they enjoy my struggle.

Finally, they release me from the restraints and machine, chuckling with amusement as I collapse exhausted on the ground.  Later, when I have crawled to them and curled at their feet, they might stroke my hair and tell me that I took it well, or, they might not.

In real life, my fucking machine experience was not humiliating or degrading. It was, in true Honey style, ridiculously hot and also had a side of ridiculous.  I am greedy for penetration. I love the feeling of my cunt being filled with every thrust while my muscles respond to the building pleasure and squeeze and squeeze around that wonderful shape. It’s no surprise that I bounced with excitement at the chance to try one out.

It is, of course, logical that a fucking machine does not lend itself to being grabbed and used spontaneously. There is the set up, the adjustments and the optimisation. The angles and stroke length have to work or it simply won’t work. I do hope that you are paying attention to this part because this is my excuse for the side serving of ridiculous that came with my experience.

When you have two hot sexy people helping you out, there is a very quick transition from, “Is that stroke length better for you,” to that grin that spreads across the face of the one with the control box that shows that it is time to play.

I was surprised at how fast I went from mainly rational thought to a filthy primal growl. I was soon face down, arse up making the sort of noises that made it clear that my body was getting drunk on the sensations. Even though I was not looking, I could feel when the two of them were exchanging looks and deciding whether to crank it up more.

I knew that I was making a mess as I came again and again. The tiniest whisper of a thought that I shouldn’t make too much mess fluttered through my brain before being blown away by the next surge of pleasure. I was also aware of a tiny whisper in my head about my glasses and what I really should do about them.

I have no idea how long I was fucked for. I was floaty and grinning for too much to work out things like that. I was giggling ridiculously with the kindly sadistic speed controller because as the fucking stopped, we realised that my glasses were in my hair, halfway around the back of my head. I had them on during setting up and was so quickly thrust into that carnal lust space that any sensible thing like putting them to the side was forgotten.

I hope that I have another experience with a fucking machine. Next time, I want to keep my head up and see the look in their eye as they control the speed. I want to squirm as they discuss how I am taking it and if I should have more. I want to watch them watching me as each wave of orgasm overwhelms me. And, of course, I want to tie my hair back and put my glasses down before we start!