Unboxing Anticipation

The box from that discreet brown shipping company had been sitting by the front door for three days before we even opened it. Not because we weren't excited — we were both practically vibrating with anticipation — but because we'd learned from the last order that unboxing together was half the fun. And tonight, finally, we had the house to ourselves.

"Are those the new attachments?" you asked, leaning against the kitchen counter in nothing but one of my old t-shirts and a pair of cotton panties. Your hair was piled up in a messy bun, the kind that always makes your neck look longer, more exposed. I could see the outline of your nipples pressing against the worn fabric.

I pulled the flaps open and spread the contents across the kitchen table like some kind of perverted Christmas morning. Three new dildo attachments — a ribbed one with a slight curve, a thicker veined one that was intimidating even to me, and a tapered one specifically designed for anal play. There was also a mounting bracket, a wireless remote with a screen, and two full-length mirrors that had come in a separate box the day before.

"The ribbed one is supposed to hit the G-spot at an angle the flat ones can't manage," I said, holding it up. It was a deep purple, silicone, with a series of raised ridges running along the shaft. You reached out and took it from my hand, turning it over, running your thumb across the texture.

"That feels like it would be intense," you murmured, and I watched your thighs press together slightly. You were already thinking about it. I could always tell — your breathing would change, just barely, and you'd get this look in your eyes like you were somewhere else entirely.

We'd had the fuck machine itself for about two weeks now. The first night with it had been clumsy — figuring out the angles, the speed settings, the depth control. You'd laughed when the first attachment popped out mid-thrust and skittered across the hardwood floor. But by the second session, we'd found our rhythm. And by the third, you'd squirted so hard you soaked the towel beneath you and left a wet spot on the couch cushion that we still hadn't flipped.

"I want to try the mirrors tonight," you said, setting the ribbed attachment down and picking up the tapered one. You turned it over in your fingers thoughtfully. "And I want you to use this on me while the machine is going."

I felt my cock twitch in my sweatpants. Just the way you said it — calm, direct, like you were ordering dinner — made my pulse pick up. You had this way of stating exactly what you wanted that was both casual and absolutely devastating.

"Where do you want the mirrors?"

"Living room. One on the floor angled up, one on the side so I can watch." You looked at me, and there was that flicker — the one that meant you were already halfway to wet. "I want to see everything."

It took about twenty minutes to set everything up. I positioned the machine at the edge of the couch where we'd found the optimal height before, adjusted the thrust arm to the angle you liked — slightly upward, so each stroke pressed against your front wall. The floor mirror went down first, tilted against the coffee table so it reflected upward. The second one I propped against the bookshelf at a forty-five-degree angle to the couch.

You stood in the doorway watching me work, sipping from a glass of water, still in my shirt and your panties. You hadn't taken them off yet, and I knew that was deliberate. You liked the buildup. You liked making me wait.

"Is the remote charged?" you asked.

"Yep. And I set the speed dial to start at three. We can work up from there."

"Start at two. I want to ease into it."

I adjusted the dial. You took a long breath, set your water glass on the counter, and walked toward me. When you reached me, you put both hands flat on my chest and looked up. Your eyes were darker now, the pupils wider.

"You're going to lick my pussy while it fucks me," you said. It wasn't a question. "And you're going to finger my ass with this one." You held up the tapered attachment, then placed it on the couch cushion beside us. "Not yet. But when I tell you."

"Whatever you want."

"I know." You smiled, and there it was — that confidence that made me crazy. You pulled my shirt — your shirt — over your head in one motion and tossed it on the floor. Your breasts settled, full and heavy, and your nipples were already tight, drawn up into stiff peaks that I wanted to get my mouth on immediately.

"Later," you said, catching my gaze. "First I want to get set up."

You hooked your thumbs into your panties and slid them down, stepping out of them. You were bare from the waist down, and I could see the faint sheen of arousal already glistening on your outer lips. You'd been wet since the kitchen, maybe since I'd opened the box. You stepped past me and sat on the edge of the couch, leaning back, positioning your hips at the edge of the cushion where the machine could reach you.

"Give me the ribbed one," you said.

I fitted the purple dildo onto the thrust arm and locked it in place. You watched me do it, your legs parted, one foot on the floor and one propped on the couch arm. I adjusted the machine forward until the tip of the dildo just barely touched your entrance. You sucked in a breath.

"That's good. Right there."

I picked up the remote and knelt beside the machine. You looked down at yourself in the floor mirror and let out a small, surprised laugh.

"Oh my god. I can see everything." Your voice had gone softer. You shifted your hips, and the dildo slipped just slightly between your lips, the first ridge catching on your opening. You gasped. "Okay. Turn it on."

I pressed the button. The machine hummed to life, the thrust arm pulling back an inch before pushing forward in a slow, steady stroke. The ribbed dildo slid into you about two inches, the ridges catching and releasing, and you let out a long, low moan that I felt in my chest.

"Fuck," you breathed. "That feels different. The ridges are — yeah. Right there."

I watched the machine work, the dildo pulling back, glistening with your wetness, then pushing in again, a little deeper this time. The speed setting was gentle, almost teasing, and I could see your thighs tensing each time it thrust forward. In the floor mirror, I could see the dildo disappearing into you, see your pussy stretching around it, see the wetness coating the purple silicone.

"More," you said. "Turn it up to four."

I adjusted the dial. The machine's rhythm increased — still controlled, but faster, with more force behind each thrust. The dildo was sinking deeper now, the ridges dragging against your walls, and your hips were starting to rock in time with it. You were watching yourself in the side mirror, your mouth open, your hands gripping the couch cushions.

"That's so fucking hot," you whispered, almost to yourself. "I can see it going in."

I reached over and ran my hand up your thigh. Your skin was warm, slightly damp with sweat already. You spread your legs wider for me without being asked.

"Lick me," you said. "Now."

I positioned myself between your legs, below the machine's arm, and leaned in. The dildo was sliding in and out of you in steady strokes, and I could smell you — that thick, musky scent that got stronger the more turned on you were. I tilted my head and ran my tongue along the top of your slit, finding your clit swollen and hard beneath its hood.

Your whole body jerked. "Oh fuck — yes. Keep doing that."

I circled your clit with my tongue, slow and deliberate, while the machine fucked you in its mechanical rhythm. The contrast was the thing — the steady, predictable thrusts of the dildo and the wet, variable pressure of my mouth. I flattened my tongue against your clit and licked upward, feeling the ridges of the dildo passing just below, separated from my tongue by the thin wall of your pussy.

You were soaked. Your wetness was running down, pooling around the base of the dildo, dripping onto the couch cushion. I pressed my tongue harder against your clit and you moaned so loudly that I felt the vibration against my mouth.

"Don't stop — don't fucking stop —"

I reached up with one hand and cupped your breast, finding the nipple and rolling it between my thumb and finger. You arched into my touch, your hips grinding against the machine's thrusts. I could feel the dildo moving through the wall of your pussy, each ridge creating a wave of pressure that traveled to your clit and met my tongue.

"More — harder —" You were panting now, your head thrown back. I sucked your clit into my mouth and flicked it rapidly with the tip of my tongue. Your thighs clamped around my head and then spread wide again, like you couldn't decide whether to close around me or open up further.

I pulled back just enough to say, "Turn your head. Watch yourself."

You looked at the side mirror and let out a strangled sound. You could see your own body — legs spread, the machine working between your thighs, my head buried between your legs. Your pussy stretched around the ribbed dildo, your clit red and swollen under my tongue.

"I look — oh god — I look like such a slut —"

"You look incredible," I said against you, and the vibration of my words made you shudder.

I kept licking, varying the pressure, sometimes broad and flat, sometimes sharp and pointed. The machine kept its pace — steady, relentless, mechanical. You were trembling now, your stomach clenching and releasing, your hands gripping the couch so hard your knuckles were white.

"Denis — I need —" You reached down and grabbed my wrist. "The other one. The small one. My ass."

I reached for the tapered attachment and the bottle of lube we'd set on the end table. I coated the toy thoroughly, then pressed the tip against your asshole. You inhaled sharply and bore down slightly, and the tapered end slipped in with almost no resistance.

"Oh — oh fuck —" Your voice went high and thin. I worked the toy in slowly, inch by inch, while the machine continued its rhythm and I returned my mouth to your clit. You were so full now — the ribbed dildo pumping in and out of your pussy, the tapered plug filling your ass, my tongue working your clit — and I could feel you tightening around everything.

"Tell me when you're close," I said.

"I'm close — I'm so fucking close — please —"

I sucked your clit into my mouth again and pressed the tapered toy deeper, feeling the ridge of the dildo through the thin wall between your pussy and ass. You let out a sound that wasn't quite a moan and wasn't quite a scream — something raw and broken that came from deep in your chest.

"Can I — can I please —"

"Cum for me," I said. "Now."

Your orgasm hit like a wave. Your whole body seized, your back arching off the couch, your thighs slamming shut around my head. I felt the dildo get pushed out halfway by the force of your contractions before the machine drove it back in. You were squirting — I felt the warm rush against my chin, my neck, running down onto the floor mirror. The machine kept fucking you through it, relentless, and I kept my mouth on your clit, riding out your thrashing.

"Stop — stop — too much —" You pushed my head away with shaking hands, and I pulled back, wiping my face with the back of my hand. I turned the machine down to its lowest setting, the dildo barely moving inside you now, just gentle rocking strokes as your contractions slowed.

You were lying back on the couch, chest heaving, eyes closed. The floor mirror beneath you was covered in your cum, streaked and fogged. The tapered toy was still in your ass, and the dildo was still half-buried in your pussy, twitching with each aftershock.

"Holy shit," you finally said. You opened your eyes and looked at me, and they were glassy, dazed. "That was the hardest I've ever cum with the machine."

I smiled. "You squirted all over the mirror."

"I know. I saw." You laughed weakly. "I squirted all over your face too."

"I noticed."

You reached down and gently pulled the tapered toy out, then eased yourself forward, letting the dildo slip out of you. Your pussy was swollen, red, glistening. You sat up on wobbly arms and looked at the mess — the wet couch cushion, the smeared mirror, the soaked towel I'd forgotten to put down.

"We forgot the towel again," you said.

"We forgot the towel again," I confirmed.

You looked at me, at the bulge in my sweatpants that I'd been ignoring for the last twenty minutes, and reached out. Your fingers wrapped around me through the fabric and squeezed.

"Your turn," you said. "But I want you to fuck me yourself this time. I want to feel you, not the machine."

I stood up and stripped off my clothes while you watched, still sprawled on the couch, still dripping. When I was naked, you turned over onto your hands and knees, presenting yourself to me — ass up, back arched, your wet pussy open and waiting.

"Like this," you said. "And I want to watch us in the mirror."

I looked at the side mirror. From this angle, I could see your back, the curve of your waist, the roundness of your ass. I could see my own body behind you, my cock hard and flushed, already leaking at the tip.

I stepped forward and pressed the head against your entrance. You were so wet that I slid in with one long thrust, burying myself to the hilt. You groaned and pushed back against me, taking me even deeper.

"Fuck — you feel so good —" I gripped your hips and started to move, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. The sound was obscene — wet, slick, the slap of my thighs against your ass echoing in the quiet room.

I reached forward and gathered your hair in my fist, pulling your head up so you could see us in the mirror. You watched my cock sliding in and out of you, watched your tits swaying with each thrust, watched your face contort with pleasure.

"There — right there —" You reached between your legs and started rubbing your clit in tight circles. I could feel your fingers against the base of my cock as I fucked you, the pressure adding to the sensation.

"Harder," you said, and I obliged, slamming into you with enough force to push you forward on the couch. You braced yourself against the arm and pushed back, meeting me thrust for thrust.

I felt you tightening around me — that familiar squeeze that meant you were close again. "I'm going to cum again," you gasped. "Don't stop — don't you dare stop —"

I kept my pace, driving into you hard and steady, watching your face in the mirror as your second orgasm built. Your mouth opened, your eyes went wide, and then you were cumming — squeezing around me, your whole body shaking, and I felt the warm rush of your squirt against my thighs, dripping down onto the cushion.

The feeling of you clenching around me, the sight of you in the mirror, the sound of your moans — it was too much. I drove into you one final time and held myself there, buried deep, as I came. My cock pulsed inside you, filling you, and I watched in the mirror as my cum eventually began to seep out around my shaft, dripping down your lips.

We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, me still inside you, your arms giving out so you were face-down on the couch with me draped over your back.

"I think we need a third mirror," you mumbled into the cushion.

I laughed, still trying to catch my breath. "For what?"

"For the ceiling. I want to see what we look like from above."

I slowly pulled out of you, and we both watched in the side mirror as my cum leaked from your pussy, thick and white against your swollen lips. You reached down and touched yourself, bringing your fingers up covered in our combined mess.

"We definitely need the towel next time," you said, examining your fingers.

"Or we just stop pretending and buy a waterproof couch cover."

You turned over and sat up, wincing slightly at the oversensitivity. You looked at the machine, still humming on its lowest setting, the ribbed dildo still glistening with your wetness. Then you looked at me.

"Next week," you said, "I want to try the thick one. And I want you to tie my hands."

I felt my spent cock twitch in response. "You're going to kill me."

You smiled — that confident, knowing smile. "But what a way to go."

I pulled you to your feet and kissed you, tasting sweat and salt and something else entirely. You leaned into me, your body still trembling faintly, and rested your head against my chest.

"We should shower," you said.

"We should," I agreed, making no move toward the bathroom.

The machine hummed quietly in the background. The mirrors reflected the aftermath — two naked bodies, a wrecked couch, and a collection of toys that suddenly seemed like just the beginning.

You tilted your head up and kissed my jaw. "Carry me."

"You're going to have to start doing cardio if you want me to carry you everywhere."

"Or you could just keep doing what you're doing and I'll keep letting you carry me."

I scooped you up — one arm under your knees, one behind your back — and headed for the bathroom. You nestled against my shoulder, still smiling.

"Denis?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time, I want the machine on the bed. And I want you to fuck my ass while it's in my pussy."

I nearly tripped over the hallway rug.

"You're trying to kill me," I said again.

You laughed against my neck. "I'm trying to make sure we get our money's worth."

I kicked the bathroom door open and set you down on the counter. You wrapped your legs around my waist and pulled me close, and I realized that the shower was going to have to wait. Because the look in your eyes said we weren't even close to done.

And honestly, I couldn't wait to see what we'd come up with next.