Chapter 39 It’s My Turn to Use the Sex Box
It’s My Turn to Use the Sex Box
As a keynote speaker at this year’s OFest, I had my choice of goodies from the Sex Pod swag table. Donated by the convention’s vendors, they were a prize selection of top-of-the-line, high-quality, cutting-edge products.
Instead, I picked the funniest thing I could find.
A Clone-A-Dick Kit.
As we read through the instructions on the kit, we settled into the sex pod together. It was a hyper-sleek room of about 250 square feet with a design aesthetic that could be described as space yacht for rich perverts.
“Why would you want a copy of my penis when you can just have the real thing any time you want?” Hudson asked.
Because unless you tell me you love me and want to try a relationship, you’re leaving in a few days, and I want a souvenir to remember you by.
“Because it’s hilarious,” I said instead. “Also, how sexy would it be if I cucked you with a copy of your own cock?”
He grabbed my ass, dragging me against his hard length, already straining against his jeans. “You’re diabolical, you know that?”
“I’m an evil sex toy genius, what can I say?”
Familiar with the features of the sex box, I opened one of the wall panels to reveal a small sink. I set about mixing the solution.
“How does this thing even work?” he asked, gesturing to the box.
“You get hard. You put your dick in this solution. And fifteen minutes later—”
“Fifteen minutes? I’ve got to sustain an erection for fifteen solid minutes?”
I laughed and nudged him back onto a plush chair, curved for maximum spine arching—very sexy.
“Yes, and then once it’s finished, you fill it with liquid latex, wait a few hours, and bam.
You’ve got a clone of your dick. I’m not sure why you’re complaining, by the way.
You once said I made you hard all day at the office. ”
“Emotionally hard. Sexual-tension-ly hard. Not literally hard. I’ve gotten very, very good at putting that thing down when you make it crop up in uncomfortable situations.”
“Well, then. You’ll need some encouragement to keep it up.”
“Hm. I have an idea.”
The room was filled with sex furniture and paraphernalia. I’d fully expected Hudson to select a device off the wall. Instead, he excused himself from the sex box altogether and, a few minutes later, returned with one of the fifteen prototypes we’d built together.
The Fantasy.
“What are you doing?”
He rolled the testing unit into the small room. It was laid out carefully in its clear-top box, ready for its first user. “It occurred to me that I’ve never seen The Fantasy in action.”
I blanched when I realized his meaning. He wanted to use The Fantasy on me. He wanted to run testing protocols on me while he watched.
That was as hot as it was terrifying. Holy shit.
“No. No way. What if it breaks the unit?”
“It’s the spare unit, for emergencies only. Besides, have you ever actually used The Fantasy on yourself? How can you be expected to sing its praises in your presentation when you haven’t even tried it?”
It was a stupid argument. But then again, it wasn’t really an argument. It was a pretext.
“Hudson, we brought a bunch of those prototypes to the convention for a reason. If the main ones on the floor break, we need to be able to pull another model out to replace it. I don’t want to put a used model out on the floor.”
“What’s the likelihood of all fourteen other models breaking? Besides, all of the body-close elements are replaceable. The core mechanisms are all covered by disposable pads and attachments. Nothing that touches you would ever touch a single convention attendee. It’s safe.”
“That is true…”
While none of our product models would be used on attendees, I’d been extremely careful to make sure that every phallus, insertable, and skin-contacting surface on The Fantasy was replaceable.
It was like a speculum at the doctor’s office.
The core mechanism was reusable while the other elements were not.
Our sale models wouldn’t include this feature, as they were designed to be used by one person and one person only, but the floor models would. For safety.
And now, apparently, for me to enjoy without guilt or repercussions.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I’ve been working on a surprise for you. If you don’t use The Fantasy, you may never get it.”
A surprise? Damn him.
“You know I can’t resist a mystery.”
“Or an experiment. I want to run some more tests with the software. Last-minute redundancies, you understand,” he said, taking out his cell phone.
Reader, this is what it looks like when someone talks themself into a bad decision.
“Fine,” I said. “But only because I want a Hudson-dildo of my own.”
“I totally forgot about that.”
“Get undressed.”
“You first. Tonight, we’re going to write your first-ever fuck report.”
Ages ago, when I’d told him I’d never filled out a fuck report of my own before, preferring to test our toys for my own personal gratification instead of contributing to our company-wide knowledge pool, I never imagined he’d use that against me.
But as he adopted a clipped, clinical, professorial air, I couldn’t help but do as I was told.
I dropped my coat on the floor. I removed my shirt, then unhooked my bra.
And that bastard didn’t even cast a glance in my direction as he input some protocols into the phone app he’d designed for The Fantasy.
Once I was standing there, fully naked, he gestured to one of the lounging options—an elevated perch that was a cross between a doctor’s chair and a sex chaise.
I sat up on its plush fabric (your mama’s OB-GYN chair this was not.
The sex box was designed bespoke for maximum comfort and user ease) and hooked my feet into the soft stirrup-like lifts.
So there I was. On my back. Legs spread. Eyes on the ceiling. Body on fire with anticipation.
When I reached up over my head to stretch, a strip of downy fabric slipped around my wrists, binding them together.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re testing this toy for the first time. Can’t have you squirming,” he said, using restraints to fully pin my arms and legs in place. “It could adversely affect the results.”
“Are you going to tie up your hands?” I asked. “After all, you wouldn’t want to do anything to ruin the Clone-A-Dick Kit once you get started with it.”
“I’m afraid I need my hands. I’ll be controlling The Fantasy, after all.”
My mouth watered. I was properly helpless now. I was his to experiment on.
I’d always been the tinkerer. Never the toy to be stretched and tested and brought to the limits. I’d never been a thing to be worked upon.
The bindings were warm against my ankles and wrists. I didn’t fight them.
“Now, here.” Hudson approached the glass-top box holding The Fantasy. “Talk me through how to put this on.”
Over these last few weeks, I’d found that I liked talking during sex. The conversation made everything hotter, more intense. And it made me feel closer to Hudson. But having to narrate my own sexual manipulation left my words coming out strained.
“You…you have to start by ensuring that the nipples are fully erect and the vagina is sufficiently wet.”
Leaving The Fantasy behind, Hudson moved back to me. Both of us knew that, by now, my pussy was likely sopping for him.
That wasn’t the point, though. The point was that he wanted to completely unravel me.
He captured my first nipple, tonguing it until it strained painfully erect. Then he gripped the second and repeated the process, driving me crazy with the lack of contact to my pussy.
I’d never felt so sexually vulnerable before, so out of control. The restraints didn’t just keep me from hooking my legs around his hips or touching myself; they kept me from even being able to arch and buck the way I usually did when I wanted more.
Once he’d lavished my nipples with attention, he stood back to a more professional distance. Now upright, he probed my pussy, entering me sharply with his fingers—no warning. Just a cold intrusion that made me want to rip his clothes off and let him inspect me everywhere.
“Is that sufficiently lubricated enough for you?” he asked, the slick patter of his fingers in my cunt filling the air. “For the purposes of testing the machine, that is.”
“Mm-hmm,” I managed to say. “Now you need to affix the nipple stimulators.”
The Fantasy was simple enough. Two remotely controlled nipple stimulators, a phallus that could vibrate, thrust, and change temperature, and a clitoral stimulator with all the bells and whistles one could ask for—sucking, vibrating, tongueing, fingering, even pinching and light stinging.
All connected by a slender body-con design that looked like the stripped-back white outfit from The Fifth Element, it was sleek, sexy, and powerful.
If it worked, The Fantasy would one day be the final word in sex toys.
It was designed to be user-friendly. Hudson, by virtue of working with me on this project for weeks now, knew exactly how it was meant to be used.
But we both liked this. This call and response of instruction and touch.
He set the nipple cups around my hard buds. They didn’t spring to life or anything, but even the slight contact aroused me further.
“Lay the central cable down the stomach. It should fit like body tape. That’s it. Now,” I said, eyes closing as he touched me all over, awakening every last one of my senses. “Press the clitoral stimulator into place.”
His long, careful fingers set the rubber cover over my sensitive clit. I shuddered but tried to keep my voice steady.
If there was one thing that I loved more than cumming, it was a good experiment. I didn’t want to burst early and ruin this one.
“And then, set the insertable inside the tester.”
“What,” he said, lining up the phallus, “no anal stimulation?”
“That’s an advanced add-on package. Not out of the testing phase yet. Clara is very big on maximizing secondary purchases.”