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I watch and feel in total shock as the rubber plus sign of the seat rises, forming around my body. The strip running back to front rises up over my clit and ass. The strip running right to left wraps around my hips.
The little raised dots of the silicone are massagers. The entire seat begins to vibrate. My ass, perineum, clit, every sensitive inch of my body is being manipulated by the gentle waves of vibrations. The dildo inside me begins to vibrate. Long, intense ripples are turning on and then off.
“This is crazy…” I’ve never felt anything so magical yet so overwhelming. Every inch of my body feels like it’s vibrating. My eyes roll to the back of my head as my hips take over, rocking and bucking as my core tightens.
His voice commands from above. “Ride harder, or you’re going over my lap when I get home.”
I rock back and forth, screaming out, desperate for the orgasm this chair is forcing me to achieve.
“Get louder, or you’re getting a taste of my belt,” he demands.
He doesn’t have to ask again as the first orgasm hits. Not much for foul language, a massive “Fuuuuck!” leaves my lips as the climax takes over, hard and strong and stealing my breath. Thesky cracks open; white stars blind my eyes. I’m left shuddering and gasping, my fingernails digging into the leather arms of the chair.
My breathing becomes ragged as I feel my body being taken over by pleasure. I try to focus, to hold onto a sense of control, but it's difficult with every inch of my body being stimulated in such a way that I can feel another orgasm building rapidly.
I can't help but moan, the sound escaping my lips as the intensity of the sensations grows. My hands instinctively reach down, grazing over the vibrating silicone and dildo. I'm lost in a haze of pleasure, every muscle tense and ready to be released.
As the orgasm builds, I feel a sense of weightlessness. Time slows down as my body screams for release. And then, just as suddenly as it started, it comes crashing down on me, sending shivers of ecstasy through my entire body.
“God. Stop. Please.” I fall back against the chair, panting heavily as the aftershocks of my orgasm try to come, only to have another build.
“Good girl,” he moans. “How about a little more so I can watch your pretty face?”
“I can’t take anymore,” I hiss.
I don’t want any more. But the chair seems to sense that, and now the vibrations are gentle and less frequent. Purring, it draws a softer, quieter orgasm from me, like a cool-down period on a treadmill. Tingles travel throughout my body as I ease into the warm pleasure. Finally, I give my last shudder.
The chair powers down. The silicone folds lower. The strangest sensation happens inside me as I feel the cock sliding out of me, lowering down into the seat. Then, it’s gone.
My body goes slack. My limbs feel weak, used, and spent. The warm, fluid feeling that comes with climax flows through me, but I’m left unfulfilled and unsatisfied. When he makes me come at home, I’m in his arms afterward. He strokes me, talks to me, as I bask in the afterglow.
I can feel him staring at me from his god-like place on the video screen. I don’t look up. He moans. “God, that was so sexy.”
I hate the lust in his voice. I hate that this was all for show, for him. I like our sexy times together because I like the way they make me feel, yes, but my favorite part is the connection between us. Like I’m not all alone in this world. Like there’s that one person that gets me. That I trust enough to let deep inside.
There is none of that in this.
I feel empty, alone, and lonely. I’m only fulfilled by him. I long for his arms, warmth, smell, and strength.
I want to scream and pound my fists. I want to tell him; how dare you make me miss you. Instead, I bury my face in my hands, and I cry.
When he speaks, his voice is filled with emotion in a way I’ve never heard him sound. “Oh my God. Ophelia! Are you hurt?”
I’m not hurt. Just a wee bit broken. I didn’t know that sex could make you feel this way… empty and lonely and aching for something you want but you can’t have.
I can’t explain it. I feel silly and angry and desperately naive all at once. I don’t answer. Like a baby, I just sit here with my head in my hands, sobbing.
My shoulders shake as I cry.
His voice comes back to me, the tones of concern soothing me. “Ophelia. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Finally, my breaths calm me enough to speak. When I do, the words come out as a shaky whisper. “You said…”
“What did I say?” He pleads, “Tell me.”
“It was just a game for you. A sexy way to release some pressure. To gain control.”
To soothe his ego.