Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“I’ve already got one rented, as a matter of fact. I made the arrangements this morning while you were in the shower as a surprise.” Henn bites his lower lip. “No pressure, of course. I figured if the timing felt right tonight, and if the idea sounded like fun to you, then we’d go pick it up together. If not, that’s fine by me.”
I can feel physical heat creeping across my cheeks and neck. I know I’m the one who first brought up the topic of the infamous orgasm machine. But saying I’m curious about a kinky machine and actually committing to riding one like a cowgirl—in front of another person, no less—are two different things. The former is an offhanded remark. The latter requires a level of sexual confidence I’m not certain I possess. On the other hand, I’ve been extremely curious about the thing since Kat mentioned it to me in Vegas, once I googled the hell out of it that very night in our hotel room.
“Let’s do it,” I say on an exhale. Why not? I’m sincerely excited to try to ride the thing, if I can muster the courage to board it in front of Henn. But even more than that, I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate Henn’s amazing accomplishment than by fulfilling a kinky fantasy for him. Yes, I’m the one who brought this idea up, months ago, but it doesn’t take a genius to see he’s going to enjoy this every bit as much as I am, if not more.
I get the feeling Henn wants to fist-pump the air in response to my affirmative reply. But, instead, he swallows hard, rises from his chair, and calmly extends his hand to me. “Come with me, pretty lady. Your chariot awaits.”
When we enter my bedroom, Henn puts the box we picked up at a sex-toy shop onto my bed. At my request, the guy at the store explained their meticulous process for sanitizing the machine between rentals, including showing me the process in the back of the store. I had to admit, it was a damned good process. Foolproof, really. Especially because all parts designed to touch a woman’s body are removable and forged from rubber that’s easily cleaned. In the end, I had to admit renting the machine was a thoroughly acceptable option from a practical standpoint—that the cleanliness of the machine didn’t present a hurdle whatsoever.
The hurdle that remains, however, is my nerves. The fact that I feel anxious about surrendering complete control over myself. As much as I want to lean into my sexuality and ditch some of my inhibitions, I can’t help feeling self-conscious and shy about engaging in mutual masturbation of this magnitude. That’s what this experience would ultimately be, wouldn’t it, since what else would Henn do but touch himself while I’m riding a machine designed to pull full-bodied orgasms out of me?
It was one thing to mutually masturbate and dirty talk via FaceTime while Henn was in DC. Somehow, the screen and miles between us gave me a kind of false confidence I’m not feeling now. For those shenanigans, I was able to employ my simple, trusty vibrator—a device that’s familiar to me and under my complete control. Plus, I controlled the framing of the live stream Henn was viewing, so if I wasn’t comfortable with him seeing something, he didn’t see it. But with this device—and in person, no less—it feels like I’ll be jumping from the Little Leagues to the World Series in one fell swoop.
“Ready for the unboxing?” Henn asks with a waggle of his eyebrows. When I nod, he reaches into the box and pulls out the machine—a black, half-domed box that’s about a foot-and-a-half long and a foot wide with a saddle on top. There’s a place to attach a dildo and a rubber pad that vibrates against a woman’s clitoris when turned on. Henn reaches in and pulls out a small control box and power cord and places them next to the machine.
“Wow,” I whisper. I’ve already seen all of this online and at the sex-toy shop. But seeing them laid out, all nice and pretty, in my bedroom and realizing the time has come for me to actually ride this thing is making me blush like a vine-ripened tomato. The good news? It’s also sending excitement across my skin and straight into my clit.
“The guy said to lay out towels, remember?” Henn says. “So, should we . . .?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Better safe than sorry.” I’ve never squirted before, but the guy at the sex shop warned women sometimes do it for the first time when riding this machine.
As Henn scurries excitedly into my bathroom to collect the towels, I shift my weight nervously and wring my hands. Why am I so damned nervous about this? Henn is the best, most patient lover imaginable. And I can’t deny the arousal zinging between my legs. So, what’s my hang up?