A special toy, for a special kind of torture.
With many thanks to softprincessdenied.bdsmlr.com, although I can’t find a link to the original story now.
All chapters of this story can be found here.
I turned around the program in less than a week.
Thankfully, the controls for the sybian were relatively simple; a dial for speed of vibration and a dial for spinning the attachment. I coded the algorithm to run through the full gamut of options, and then run principal component analysis followed by a simple recommender system.
But I ran into a minor problem.
In order to “know” when an orgasm was imminent, one would have to happen first. I — or whoever else was going to be the fortunate victim of this machine — was going to have to cum once before the AI could correctly predict the bodily signs.
“I have a problem,” I told him.
“Oh?”
I explained my conundrum, and I watched a smile stretch across his face.
“Guess you’ll get lucky, once. Better enjoy it.”
I bit my lip and mirrored his expression. He always made me feel like the luckiest girl on the planet.
We set up the device, and I brought up the interface on his computer. After running through the sensor start-up — he had been so kind as to provide not only those for monitoring heart rate and blood pressure, but also an internal manometer and liquid sensor for the sybian’s attachments themselves — he taped the appropriate pads to the insides of my thighs and I straddled the machine.
“Ready?” he asked.
I giggled nervously. “As ready as I’m going to be.”
The first vibration was barely noticeable, a delicate tease. Still, it drew a needy gasp from my lips.
As it got stronger and stronger, I felt my lips part and my hips buck.
It felt so good. So unbelievably good.
Up and down, the machine wound me, like a spring that got tighter and tighter. When the cock attachment buried in my pussy started twirling, I felt my eyes roll back in my head.
I knew I was close. I could feel myself dripping.
Up and down. Faster and slower, slower and faster. Never enough to push me over the edge.
What started off delicate and teasing became increasingly cruel. I was helpless against the merciless torture of algorithm’s matrices, running through rows and rows of datasets and calibrating the tiniest nuance of my body’s desire. My pussy contracted and dripped, the sound of liquid vibrating against the pads giving the incessant hum of the machine a eager timbre. Fuck, I was so ready.
I needed to cum.
His cock appeared in front of my face, and I swallowed it down. His hands held my head steady, pushing himself until he breached the back of my throat. The violation brought greedy little noises from me, and I felt myself liquefy for him.
Did he know that he had this effect on me?
The sybian geared down in response. I almost cried.
Distantly, I worried that we were going to skew the data.
Would that be so bad, though?
His cock slid out of my throat, then back in.
Would that be so bad, that my orgasm was somehow tied to being choked with his cock?
I shivered. No, not bad at all. Exactly right. The Markov chains stretched and broke, reforming themselves in the trembling tide of my desire.
In and out, his repeated violation of my mouth made every second on the machine bleed into the next. There was nothing except for the vibrating, pulsing machine between my legs, edging me closer every minute, and his continued choking assault.
My lungs burned, my throat convulsed.
Used like a fuck toy. A hole for his cock.
My muscled quivered. I could see the precipice in my mind.
He threaded his fingers through my hair and squeezed, sending ten thousand tiny sparks of pain shivering down through my body. His strokes became faster, more erratic, and I knew he was close. He gave me less and less time to breathe, before pushing himself further into my tightening throat.
A toy. A hole. Nothing but a hole.
I writhed on the machine underneath him, helpless.
As he pulled my mouth flush against the flat of his stomach, his hard cock shoved all the way down, I lost it. In a mess of a moment, as my brain undulated between the primal need for air and the base desire to be filled with his cock, my orgasm crashed over me.
I screamed against him in my throat, and his grip tightened. I could feel the pulses of his cum shooting into my body, and I screamed. Liquid sprayed all over the sybian, and the floor around us.
The machine cataloged every wet constriction, every shameless heartbeat, every shifting rhythm of my boiling blood. Time itself lost its meaning.
I screamed.
I screamed my pleasure out around him, into a timeless, spiraling eternity.
It was perfect. Pure, hedonistic perfection.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I would do anything to experience this again. Anything to experience this unmitigated pleasure, again.
That thought should have scared me.
I took in great gulps of cool air as he pulled himself from my mouth. Strings of saliva yawned and broke between us, and I felt myself clench, hard, again.
My unending need for him to use me like a fuck hole, should have scared me.
But it didn’t.
At least, not in any way that didn’t make me a gooey, clenching mess again.
He still stood in front of me, catching his breath. I reached forward to gently lick and suck his softening cock. I thought about the data that the machine now had, twisted and knotted together through its regressive algorithms, that would now be able to hold me tighter than any rope.
Data that could break my mind.
That really should have scared me.
I felt myself shiver again, in spite of myself. It did the opposite of scare me. I wanted him to use that data to wring every filthy act from my limbs, every dirty depraved secret from my lips.
He smiled down at me, running his fingers through my hair. I smiled back up at him.
There was so much I wanted to say.
Fuck me up, please. Use me. Break me open.
Instead, I said the only thing that was appropriate. “Thank you.”
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash