cw: bondage, fucking machines, hints of forced orgasm, questionably Victorianesque writing style
It was a cool autumn day in New London when I decided to call upon my friend, whom most knew as the Professor. Well-traveled, slightly eccentric, and exceedingly attractive, the Professor was somewhat famous for their inventions. They often spent hours in their workshop, a private space that none could enter, emerging rarely until they’d produced another of their magnificent creations, which were both spectacular and quite stimulating. These inventions sold, some said, for obscene amounts at private auction, but you would never know it—the Professor just wore their same tweed suit at all times, except for formal occasions, when they might instead don a tuxedo that had been out of fashion for a good five years or so.
Still, fashionable or not, I found the Professor’s conversation as stimulating as their inventions, and I knew they had finished one recently, which meant they may have been amenable to a visit. I also happened to have tickets to the theater, a comedy show I thought might amuse them, and it occurred to me that an invitation was in order. So on that morning, I dressed with care in my new day dress of gray and brown plaid, and pinned my hat to my hair so it wouldn’t blow away in the breeze. I lived, at that time, not too far from a zeppelin dock, and while the skyships were (and, for that matter, are) a marvel, the breeze they cause by flying so low could wreak havoc.
On this day, the Professor was sitting behind the desk, and they smiled when they saw me. “Good morning,” they greeted me, putting out their pipe. “It’s a pleasure to see you. Thank you,” they added to their butler, who understood his dismissal and left.
“Good morning,” I answered back. “Excuse my stopping by without warning, but I had heard you’d emerged from that workshop of yours. I didn’t know when I’d next have an opportunity to see you. I thought I ought to seize the chance while I could.” I gave them a smile that was, truthfully, not entirely free of teasing.
“I’m quite glad you did,” they said, and stood up, setting down some papers. “I have just created a few devices, and I know you have always enjoyed my creations. Would you care to see the newest?”
“I would very much,” I said, and they opened their desk and drew out a device. It was quite small, shaped a little like a cigar, or a child’s model of a zeppelin. “Oh, this looks very nice,” I say. “What does it do?”
“It’s much like many of my other designs. It uses electrical impulses to move a motor,” they explained. “The movement of the motor within it causes the body to shake, stimulating whatever portion of the body one may choose to stimulate. It is not terribly dissimilar to other inventions I’ve shown you, but as you can see, this is much smaller and more refined.”
“So it is,” I remarked, wondering at how much power could be contained in such a small device. “May I hold it?”
“Certainly,” they said, and presented it to me. I removed my kid gloves so that I could admire it fully, the smooth shape and the elegance of the design at my fingertips. I was no inventor myself, but after seeing so many of their creations, I could see how refined and elegant it looked, and yet wholly modern with its gears and the shine of brass.
“I have not,” they said, “yet had opportunity to test it on another living person,” they continued. “Perhaps you may care for a proper demonstration?”
“I would very much,” I said.
They gave me a little smirk. “One wonders if that’s why you came by,” they teased.
“Hmmph,” I said. “I’d come here to invite you to the theater this week, in fact.”
“Ah, well,” they said. “I suppose that depends on how well this goes, because I may end up needing to refine my new device further…but we’ll see. You know exactly what to do.”
I did. In their study they kept a chaise—ostensibly for the occasions when they studied too late into the night and would like to rest without the hassle of going upstairs and changing. As they locked the door, I lay upon it and hiked up my skirt and petticoats, leaving myself exposed.
“The lady claims to be here to invite me to the theater,” they remarked, “and yet seems to have neglected her bloomers. How very careless of you.”
I felt my cheeks turn red at being caught out. “One is sometimes absentminded when one is eager to see their good friend,” I answered, imitating their speech.
They smiled at that. “I suppose so,” they answered.
They took my hands—not in a gesture of affection. The chaise was not built as others were. It had straps that could be carefully tucked into the lining, or extracted for use. The Professor claimed that to best test their inventions, the user must be as motionless as possible, and so to ensure that, they tied my wrists together over my head, then spread my ankles and secured those. I was used to this custom—and, truth be told, found it an interesting element. There were times when I was alone at night, my hand between my legs, and I thought about the feeling of silk on my wrists and the helplessness of being bound. Sometimes, especially with one of their devices, that thought alone was enough to bring me to climax in moments.
They tugged lightly on the restraints around my ankles, then nodded, satisfied with their work.
They returned to their desk for their notebook and the device. “My primary concern,” said the professor, “is that the smaller size may have weakened the effect. Please tell me if that’s the case.”
“I will,” I promised, perfectly happy to be taking part in such an experiment.
And yet, it didn’t start, and they looked at me for a long moment. “You know,” they said, “there is another device I’ve been working on, though it’s in the prototype phase. Would you be interested in helping me with both, perhaps? The prototype will take a moment to set up, but I think you might like it.”
“I’m always very pleased to assist you with your work, Professor,” I said, looking up at them.
They nodded, and stepped out of my view for a moment, though they didn’t leave the room. When they returned, they carried a metallic frame of some sort, a mess of gears and springs. I was almost appalled for a moment—this looked nothing like the Professor’s usual beautiful creations.
“It’s a prototype,” they reminded me, upon seeing my expression. “It’ll be remade more prettily when I’m sure it works.”
They set it up between my knees, and I could feel the cold base of the device through my silk stockings. Even lifting my head to see, I couldn’t quite discern the purpose of the device—not until they returned to their desk, extracted yet another object, and returned to affix it to a point on the framework. It was a dildo, vaguely lifelike, and it was currently lined up perfectly with the entrance at the apex of my legs. Suddenly, all the gears and angles of the device were made perfectly clear.
“Interesting,” I said, trying to sound calm and intrigued.
“I’m sure you can see how it works,” they said. “Would you like a better explanation?”
“Perhaps after,” I say, trying not to move. The tip of the dildo was so close to my folds—if it had been a real cock I’d have felt its heat. As it was, I just felt a vague tease of its presence, and it made me want more.
They nodded. “We’ll commence the testing,” they said, “first with my newest invention, then with the addition of the prototype.”
And with that, they turned on the zeppelin-shaped device, and lowered it to my folds.
It was weaker, or seemed to be—at least at first. It was another tease, not unlike the one from the dildo, though just the touch of it seemed to make my stomach knot a little, warmth spreading over me.
“It’s a little weak,” I said, knowing he wanted my responses.
“That’s just the first setting,” they said, and twisted a dial before returning it to my clit again.
That was stronger, more like what I was accustomed to—and yet not. Suddenly, the other ones I’d tried seemed clumsy and awkward. This was small and delicate against the hard little nub, and the vibrations seemed to carry directly through to the nerves there with a precision I hadn’t imagined possible outside of a lover’s fingers.
“Oh,” I managed in my surprise, and tried to come up with something else to say, but then they turned it up again and pressed it firmly against me. My breath came in short gasps as I felt it buzzing against me, hard against the most sensitive part of my body. I felt myself clench, my thighs quivering on either side of the Professor’s hand. My eyes closed as the sensations seemed to spread like heat, from my clit through to the tips of my fingers and toes—
And then I came, and gasped as I did, throwing my head back and half-arching off the couch.
Usually, when we tested their devices, they’d pull it away when I reached my climax to take notes, but this time they just held it in place. A moan left my mouth as the heat and tension started building again almost immediately.
My eyes were still closed, so I didn’t see them turning on the prototype, but I heard it—first a click of a switch, and then the churning of gears coming to life. It smelled of brass and coal, though I didn’t know how it ran, and in that moment I certainly didn’t care. It came to life, and thrust the dildo inside of me, stretching me just as I’d wished it would a mere few moments ago.
I was halfway to another climax already, and when the dildo began to thrust in and out of me, in a rapid but perfectly, flawlessly steady movement, every sensation seemed to heighten further. This time, my resolve to stay still wasn’t enough. I began to rock my hips, despite my arms and legs being restricted, unable to resist meeting each thrust as it slid so easily into me, rubbing myself against the buzzing device—and, inadvertently, against the Professor’s hand, which they held as steadily as they could despite my wanton need.
I came again, harder than the first, but the sensations still didn’t die down and I came a third time almost before I’d come down from the last. I tried to open my eyes, gasping for air, and through my lashes I saw them adjusting something on the prototype. It started thrusting faster, and then faster.
At that point, I lost count. I came, over and over, soon too worn out to keep moving my hips, but it didn’t matter—it kept pounding into me, wonderfully relentless. I don’t know if I screamed, but my gasps were ragged and desperate, and I know I tugged against the restraints because I could feel them cutting into my skin, and I didn’t care in the slightest.
After five or ten or thirty orgasms, I suddenly wasn’t sure I could take it. “P-Professor,” I managed—begged, perhaps. “Professor, I can’t—”
They immediately pulled the device away with one hand, and switched off the prototype with the other. It came to a halt, the dildo still halfway inside of me, the gears grinding.
The sudden silence, after the rhythmic sound of the prototype and the steady hum of the vibrating device, made my rough panting seem even louder. I had tears in my eyes from the onslaught of pleasure.
When I looked up again, the Professor was taking notes, their glasses perched on their nose. “So,” they said, business as usual, “did you notice whether the device was as powerful as previous versions?”
“I—I think so,” I said, still trying to catch my breath. “I admit, I think the, erm, the other prototype may have—have impaired my observation.”
“Hmm,” they said, scribbling that down in their spidery handwriting. “Well, then. I suppose we’ll have to test each in isolation…” They drew out their pocketwatch. “In a while.” They set down their notebook and started to untie my ankles. “It’s nearly teatime. Would you care to join me?”
When they removed the ribbon from my wrists, I sat up. My thighs were wet. “Thank you, Professor,” I said. “I would like that very much.”
I reached up to adjust my hat with a shaky hand. To my pleasure, and amusement, it remained firmly in place.
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