Unboxing the Evening

The box sat in the middle of the living room like a dare. Big, black, unmarked except for a small shipping label that read "home goods" in the most unconvincing font I'd ever seen. You'd been tracking the package for a week, refreshing the delivery app like a kid on Christmas Eve, and when the buzzer finally rang that afternoon, you practically lunged for the door.

"Careful," I said, watching you drag it inside. "That thing weighs like forty pounds."

"I know what it is," you shot back, grinning. "I ordered it."

I leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, as you circled the box like a predator sizing up prey. You didn't open it right away. You just stood there, running your fingers along the cardboard edge, biting your lower lip in that way you do when you're already thinking about what comes next.

"Are you just going to stare at it?" I asked.

"Maybe." You glanced over your shoulder at me. "Or maybe I'm savoring the moment."

We'd talked about this for months. Late nights in bed, scrolling through websites on your phone, showing me videos and asking what I thought. The idea of a machine — something relentless, something that didn't get tired — had fascinated you since the first time you'd watched a clip of one in action. I'd watched your face during those videos. The way your breathing changed. The way your thighs pressed together unconsciously. I knew this wasn't a passing curiosity.

"Alright," I said, pushing off the counter. "Let's see what you spent our money on."

You laughed, grabbed a box cutter from the drawer, and sliced through the tape. The flaps fell open and there it was — a sleek, matte-black motorized unit with an adjustable arm, a remote control, and a padded attachment system. Beneath it, nestled in foam, were four dildos of varying sizes, each one vacuum-sealed and gleaming. You picked up the largest one and held it up next to your forearm for comparison.

"That one's ridiculous," I said.

"That one's the goal," you corrected me, setting it back in the foam.

We spent the next twenty minutes assembling it. You read the instructions; I did the actual building, clicking the arm into place, adjusting the stroke length, connecting the remote. The thing was surprisingly well-made. Heavy-duty. The motor hummed quietly when I tested it on the lowest setting, the arm gliding back and forth in a smooth, mechanical rhythm.

"Damn," you whispered. "That's going to feel insane."

I looked at you. Your pupils were already dilated, your cheeks flushed, and you hadn't even taken your clothes off yet. I reached out and hooked a finger into the waistband of your leggings, pulling you toward me.

"Maybe we should take this to the bedroom," I said.

"Maybe you should let me get naked first."

I smirked. "Fair enough."

You stripped slowly — not performing, just natural. Leggings first, then the tank top, then the sports bra underneath. You stood in front of me in just a pair of black cotton panties, your nipples already hard from the anticipation or the air conditioning or both. I reached for the waistband of your panties and you caught my wrist.

"Patience," you said. "I want to try the smallest one first."

The smallest one was still a solid six inches, thick and realistically veined, mounted on a stainless steel rod that clicked into the machine's arm. I set the whole rig up at the edge of the bed, adjusting the height and angle while you watched from the pillow, propped up on your elbows.

"How do you want me?" you asked.

"On your back. Legs spread. I want to see everything."

You obeyed without hesitation, settling back against the pillows and opening your legs. I knelt beside the bed and pulled your panties off, tossing them somewhere behind me. You were already wet — visibly, undeniably wet — and the sight of you like that, exposed and waiting, made my cock strain against my jeans.

I grabbed the lube from the nightstand and coated the toy, then applied some to my fingers and slid them through your folds, making sure you were ready. You shuddered at my touch, your hips lifting off the mattress.

"You're already soaked," I said.

"Been thinking about this all day," you admitted. "Since I got the shipping notification this morning."

I positioned the toy at your entrance, just the tip pressing against you. "Ready?"

"Go slow."

I clicked the remote to the lowest setting. The arm moved forward, sliding the toy into you inch by inch, then withdrew. Forward again, deeper this time. Back out. The rhythm was steady and mechanical, utterly predictable, and I could see your body responding to that consistency. Your walls opened around the toy with each thrust, gripping it as it pulled back, and the sound — that wet, slick sound — filled the room.

"Oh fuck," you breathed. "That's... okay, that's really good."

I watched, transfixed. Your pussy stretched around the toy with each stroke, your lips pulling outward as it withdrew and folding back in as it pushed forward. I'd watched my own cock do this a hundred times, but there was something different about watching a machine do it. No human hesitation. No variation unless I chose to introduce it. Just relentless, perfect rhythm.

I turned the speed up one notch. Your breath hitched.

"There you go," I murmured, watching your stomach tighten. "Let it fuck you."

Your hands gripped the sheets. Your head tilted back, exposing the long line of your throat, and I couldn't resist leaning down to kiss the side of your neck. You smelled like vanilla and sweat, and when I bit gently on your earlobe, you let out a moan that vibrated through your whole body.

"Don't stop," you said, though neither of us was sure if you were talking to me or the machine.

I increased the stroke length. The toy now pulled almost completely out before driving back in, and your pussy made a soft, obscene popping sound each time the head breached your entrance. Your thighs were trembling. I could see the muscles in your lower abdomen contracting, and I knew that tell — you were already close.

"Cum when you're ready," I told you. "I want to watch."

It didn't take long. Your back arched, your mouth opened in a silent cry, and then your whole body seized. The toy kept fucking you through it, steady and unforgiving, and your orgasm seemed to stretch and fold in on itself as the relentless stimulation pushed you past the peak and into something deeper. You grabbed my arm, your nails digging in, and I felt the tremors running through you.

"Holy shit," you gasped, when you could finally speak again. "Holy shit, Denis."

I clicked the speed down, letting you catch your breath. The toy continued its slow, lazy thrusts as you came down, and I could see your cum coating the silicone, a white ring forming around the base.

"Ready for the next one?" I asked.

You looked at me with glassy eyes and a crooked smile. "Give me thirty seconds."

I gave you about fifteen before I pulled the first toy out and replaced it with the second — thicker, slightly longer, with a more pronounced head that I knew would catch on your entrance with every stroke. I lubed it generously, and when I pressed it against you this time, your pussy resisted for a moment before yielding.

"Oh, that's... that's bigger," you said, your voice climbing.

"You can take it." I pushed it in the rest of the way by hand, feeling your walls clamp and adjust around the girth. "Look at that. You're swallowing it."

I started the machine again, this time at a medium setting. The thicker toy stretched you wider, and I watched your opening deform around it with each thrust, the silicone pressing your lips flat on the inward stroke and pulling them outward on the retreat. You were moaning continuously now, low and guttural, your hands alternating between gripping the sheets and reaching down to spread yourself wider.

"Play with your clit," I commanded.

Your right hand moved immediately, fingers finding the swollen bud and rubbing in tight, fast circles. The combination — the mechanical fucking, your own fingers, the thick stretch — hit you like a truck. Your second orgasm came hard and sudden, your legs snapping together around the machine's arm as your whole body convulsed.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" you chanted, and then a gush of fluid sprayed around the toy, soaking the sheets beneath you. You squirted, something you usually needed my cock for, and the sight of it made my own arousal almost painful.

I let you ride it out, then slowed the machine to a crawl. You were panting, hair stuck to your forehead, your chest heaving. A puddle had formed under your ass, and the toy was slick with your cum.

"You're making a mess," I said, grinning.

"Your fault," you panted. "You told me to touch myself."

"Third one?"

You looked at the remaining dildos on the bed — the third one was significantly thicker than the second, ribbed along the shaft, and the fourth was the monster you'd compared to your forearm. You swallowed hard.

"Yeah. Third one."

I switched them out, taking my time, letting the anticipation build. While I lubed the new toy, I slid two fingers inside you, feeling how open you already were, how warm and slick. You clenched around my fingers instinctively.

"You're so loose right now," I said, working my fingers in and out. "That machine's opening you up nicely."

"Stop teasing and fuck me with it," you growled.

I lined up the ribbed toy and started the machine at a higher speed than before. The ribs caught on your entrance with every stroke, creating a rippling sensation that made you scream — actually scream — into the pillow. Your hips bucked upward, meeting the toy's thrusts, and I could see your stomach muscles fluttering with each impact.

I grabbed your throat. Not squeezing, just holding. Your eyes flew open and locked onto mine.

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

Your body obeyed like it always does when I give you that command. Another orgasm ripped through you, harder than the first two, and you squirted again — a thick stream that hit the machine's arm and splattered across the bed. I held your throat through it, feeling the vibrations of your moans against my palm, and when the orgasm finally released you, your whole body went limp.

"Too much?" I asked, loosening my grip.

"No," you whispered. "Don't stop. Just... give me a second."

I slowed the machine but didn't stop it. The ribbed toy continued its slow, deliberate thrusts, and I watched your pussy slowly relax around it, accepting the intrusion with less resistance now. You were stretched wide, your lips flushed and swollen, and the sight of that thick silicone sliding in and out of you was genuinely pornographic.

"The big one?" I asked, reaching for the fourth dildo.

You looked at it. Then at me. Then back at the dildo.

"Not yet," you said. "I want to cum one more time on this one first."

I turned the speed back up. Your back arched off the bed again, and I reached down to rub your clit with my thumb while the machine fucked you. That combination — the relentless mechanical thrusting and my hand on you — sent you over the edge a fourth time. This orgasm was quieter, deeper, your whole body going rigid and then melting into the mattress like your bones had dissolved. A small trickle of fluid ran down your ass and pooled on the sheets.

"Okay," you breathed. "Okay. I need... I need you now. Not the machine. You."

I didn't need to be told twice. I killed the machine, carefully pulled the toy out — you gasped as the head popped free — and stood up to strip off my clothes. My cock was painfully hard, and when I freed it from my jeans, it sprang up against my stomach, flushed and leaking.

"Get on your hands and knees," I said.

You rolled over, your arms shaking slightly from exhaustion, and presented yourself to me. Your pussy was red and swollen, still gaping slightly from the toys, and cum and lube had made a mess of your thighs and the sheets. I lined myself up and pushed in.

You were so wet that I slid in to the hilt on the first thrust, and the heat — god, the heat. No toy could replicate that. The way your walls gripped and pulsed around me, the way you pushed back against me instinctively, the way your back curved to take me deeper.

"Fuck, you feel good," I groaned, gripping your hips.

"You feel better," you moaned into the pillow.

I started slow, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in, watching my cock stretch you. Each thrust forced a small sound from your throat — a whimper, a gasp, a moan — and I matched my rhythm to those sounds, pushing harder when you got louder.

"Harder," you begged. "Please, Denis, harder."

I grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your head back, arching your spine, and started fucking you with everything I had. The sound of my hips slapping against your ass filled the room, mixing with your moans and the wet, obscene squelch of your pussy. I could feel you getting close again — that telltale clenching, the way your thighs started to shake.

"Don't cum yet," I said, yanking your hair tighter.

"Please—"

"I said not yet." I slowed down, dragging my cock in and out at an agonizing pace. You whimpered and tried to push back against me, but I held you in place with my grip on your hair. "You cum when I tell you to."

You sobbed into the pillow, your body trembling with the effort of holding back. I reached around with my free hand and pressed two fingers against your clit, rubbing in slow circles while I continued my deliberate, controlled thrusts.

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

You shattered. Your pussy clamped down on my cock so hard I almost couldn't move, and then the convulsions started — deep, rhythmic squeezes that milked me as you squirted around my shaft. The fluid splashed against my stomach and thighs, soaking the sheets even further, and your scream was muffled by the pillow but still loud enough to make me grateful we didn't share walls with neighbors.

I kept fucking you through it, driving into your spasming pussy, and when the orgasm finally ebbed, I flipped you onto your back. Your eyes were glazed, your hair a wreck, your body covered in a sheen of sweat. You looked wrecked in the best possible way.

"One more," I said, settling between your legs.

"I can't—"

"You can." I pushed back inside you, and your eyes rolled back. "One more, Angie."

I hooked your knees over my shoulders, folding you in half, and fucked you deep. This angle let me hit that spot inside you — the one that made you squirt every time — and I targeted it with precision, short thrusts that dragged my cock head across it with every stroke.

Your hands clawed at my back. "Denis, I'm gonna—"

"Do it. Soak me."

You came a sixth time — or maybe it was the seventh, I'd lost count — and this time the squirt was massive. It sprayed out around my cock, hitting my chest, running down between us, and the sheets beneath us were so saturated that we were practically lying in a puddle. Your pussy convulsed around me so intensely that I finally lost my own control, slamming into you and holding there as I came, pumping deep inside you, my own groan mixing with your whimpers.

We stayed like that for a long moment. My cock softening inside you, your legs still trembling over my shoulders, both of us breathing like we'd run a marathon. I could feel my cum and yours mixing, leaking out around my shaft, and when I finally pulled out, the sight of it — my cum dripping from your well-fucked pussy, your swollen lips, the absolute destruction of those sheets — made me lean down and kiss you.

"That machine," you said, when I rolled off you and collapsed beside you, "was the best purchase I've ever made."

"Better than me?"

"You're not a purchase." You turned your head to look at me, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across your face. "You're an investment."

I laughed, pulling you against me despite the wet mess we were both lying in. "I think we need new sheets."

"We need a new mattress," you corrected, glancing down at the soaked bedding. "And maybe a towel. Or twelve."

I looked over at the machine, still set up at the edge of the bed, its arm frozen mid-stroke, the collection of dildos lined up on the nightstand like soldiers awaiting orders. Then I looked at you — flushed, spent, curled against my chest with that post-orgasm glow that made you look like you'd just returned from a different dimension.

"So," I said, "same time tomorrow?"

You laughed so hard you snorted, and honestly, that was the best sound I'd heard all night.