Fucking machines

As much as i would like to release a manifesto raging against the encroachment of industrialized automatons on our organic lives, this thesis, unfortunately, isn't it. Rather, i shall use my stores of energy to scribe a long tome to the phenomenon that has entrenched itself deeply in the world of kink:

the fucking machine

...as in a contraption manufactured to administer a solid and righteous sexual penetration. Now, loosely defined, a device can satisfy the basic guidelines needed to qualify as a machine if it has " rigid moving parts that perform or assist in performing some work". Quite frankly, a wooden spoon could qualify as a machine. Clearly, we are not interested in fetishizing the creation of puddin', so the common, ordinary, basic kitchen supplies won't be the focus of this essay. Following along these rigid lines, it goes without saying (and yet, ironically, it goes said) that i do not mean to also discuss vibrators and other masturbatory contrivances. Surely, these are fucking "machines", but most commonly are auto-administered. What i find most exciting and enthralling are those gadgets devised to target the female genitalia when the proprietor of said erogenous zones is restrained and unable to stop this encroachment.

I don't care much for those Deus Ex Fuckina's like this or this where the girl largely straddles the apparatus and let's the vibrations deliver her to O-town. Mind you, when i say "i don't care", i mean, i get very little pleasure from witnessing this act. I'm all for a girl taking the business end of these toys and shoving them all up in their business. However, what i prefer is when she's bound, THEN fucked. There is something quite moving in anchoring a girl to complete suspended animation, with her parts prone, only to slowly dissolve her into a pile of vibrating, screwed gelatin, unable to move away from her penetrator, let alone decide when she's had enough.

It's at this point where i pause and ponder the accumulated imagery i have that forms the footnoted citations of my viewpoint. I look over the black (well, grey as i draft it) wall that i've scribbled on and wonder if i've accomplished the proof of my thesis. What, you may ask, is my thesis? And i would respond by speaking to the empty air that lies around me (as i try not to notice that i'm talking out loud to a keyboard and monitor) with the same single word my thesis often inhabits:

Why?

To view a female who has submitted to being bound in an open and vulnerable position, only to have a mechanical device simulate the act of a rather hard and rough coupling, represents to me about as clear a no-brainer stimuli that exists. But, i have a responsibility to acknowledge that my perspective is one much more exposed to these sort of renderings than others. Therefore, i recognize i must offer my reader something more than just a long casual chat about motorized sex contraptions. To some people there is no such thing as a casual chat about this subject.

I myself have never owned or used one. I have been witness to a few live sessions and have viewed countless videos of the same kind. The basic formula that never fails to arouse is as such:

Girl led in and bound
+
pistoning engine with a dildo attachment positioned at chosen orifice
+
initiation of sequential mechanical humping
---------------------------------
girl becomes extension of machine

And that's the key, i believe. Any number of tweaks to the three components can occur, but only tweaks. Their basic anatomy must remain in order for the expressed sum to materialize.

girl becomes extension of machine

Even as i type that, i feel a growth of arousal. I'm not physically touching her, in fact, i'm specifically avoiding that, in order not to taint the assimilation. I am positioning her then abandoning her to the electrical device pounding into her immobile cunt. In the few times i've seen this in person, i'd watch as the somewhat startled girl vanished, leaving behind a copulating humanoid, and then i myself would leave. I'd go into a neighboring room, not too far, so that i could still hear the sounds of the air puffing out of the engine, and the real prize:

the occasional grunt and moan of a die-cast lifeform.